Wizard Potter
by Luolang
Summary: The world is bigger - and scarier - than you think. Magic brings a new set of solutions and a different breed of problems. One teenage British sorcerer quickly discovers this for himself, caught between wizards, warlocks, werewolves, vampires, and more. And just what's with this "Voldemort" business anyway?
1. ONE

WIZARD  
POTTER

ONE

THE SCENE started the same way it always did. He couldn't see anything, but he could hear the voices, muted and distorted as if he were underwater.

"Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything—"

The next voice was high and nasally, pitched with cruel intent. "Stand aside – stand aside, girl—"

He heard a loud thump after that, but everything was silent for the next few moments. Suddenly, he could see something – twin pinpricks of red light boring down upon him. He felt like squirming, but lacked the physical means and reference to do so.

Then he heard the voice call out again. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a green flash and then nothing.

"Harry… Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes, stifling a yawn. His head was on the counter and his neck felt sore. He wiped off a bit of drool off the corner of his chin and glanced up, embarrassed as he rose and got his bearings. He had just been meaning to lie his head down for a minute or so...

The barkeeper was squinting at him, bald head gleaming in the dingy light.

"Bloody hell, boy, that's the second time that's happened today!"

Harry felt his cheeks flush. "Sorry about that, Tom."

Harry got off the stool and briefly stretched, cracking his neck. He took in the bar. Halloween was always a popular night at the Leaky Cauldron and 2006 was no exception. The pub was close to capacity, buzzing with conversation, and one of the nearby patrons at the counter gave him an amused smile.

"Alright there, Green?"

Harry shrugged. "Just another Halloween, Diggle. You know how it is with me and Halloween."

Odd things happened to Harry on Halloween. Last Halloween, Harry got into a major (and nearly fatal) misunderstanding in Camden involving two bobbies, a senior citizen, and a fire hydrant. It was extremely embarrassing and Harry almost got arrested. The Halloween before that, he was nearly electrocuted by a telephone wire that broke free – it had missed him by inches.

Harry always felt more lethargic on Halloween and every Halloween he dreamed the same... dream? Nightmare? He'd never been able to make heads or tails of it anyway. Lately though, Harry had begun having different dreams. Weird dreams. There was a talking snake, a rat-faced man, tiny, slimy hands, and people in dark robes with skull-shaped masks. Harry always felt _small_ in those dreams and the scar on his forehead would hurt every time he woke up from one of them. He didn't know what to make of those dreams either.

Tom continued to examine Harry. "Perhaps I shouldn't have let you agree to sub in for Seamus's shift tonight."

Harry quickly looked over at the clock in the far corner of the pub. It was a real antique pendulum clock since electronics tended to go haywire in the pub – and around Harry in general for that matter.

He then raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm good for it, Tom. My shift ends in another hour anyway."

Tom looked skeptical but grunted, "If you're sure, Harry. Table ten needs two orders of fish & chips and eleven needs a refill on tonight's special ale."

"Got it."

Harry went behind the counter to retrieve the freshly made orders, as well as a pitcher of the Leaky Cauldron's finest. Harry liked the Cauldron – there was always a sort of energy that permeated the pub and seemed to mellow everyone out.

It was also one of the few places in London where anything resembling a "community" for those involved with the paranormal assembled. Most patrons had at best an unhealthy obsession for the occult. Still, a few low-level talents were regulars here and Harry swore that a real sorcerer or two might have visited since he had started frequenting the Cauldron over the last year and a half.

The rest of his shift proceeded without any additional lethargic episodes and Harry worked methodically and efficiently. He skimmed through his chemistry GCSE study guide between orders. He didn't find chemical thermodynamics to be the most exciting topic, but Tom had advised him that magic didn't exactly pay the bills and he'd need the benefit of a good education.

His replacement came in promptly at eight, wearing a long dark cape and flashing white fangs.

Harry folded his arms, looking the caped figure up and down. "Who are you supposed to be?"

The subject of Harry's impromptu examination winced. "Bloody Dracula, Harry, can't you tell?"

"Dean, Dracula's... white."

Dean scowled.

"I'm also pretty sure that Dracula doesn't have dreadlocks. Or wear Adidas."

"Critics, critics," Dean grumbled.

Harry brightened, snapping his fingers. "I've got it – you can be Blacula!"

Dean groaned. "Really, Harry? You had to go _there_? I knew it was a mistake to agree to watch that last month."

Harry shrugged. "When Terry said he wanted to marathon all the Dracula films in time for Halloween, he did mean _all_ of them."

Dean made a pained expression and raised a hand. "Just... stop. Least I have a costume."

Harry laughed. "Not a fan of Halloween, Dean. Anyway, you and Seamus on for game night this Friday?"

"Yeah. Seamus was wondering if he could bring Lav over as well – he's got her interested in playing."

"Should be fun – new campaign anyway. I don't think Terry will mind. Actually, seeing the way he was staring at her last week, I'm _definitely_ sure he wouldn't mind."

Dean sniggered. "I remember – Seamus almost went in on him for that. Only reason he didn't was so he wouldn't look bad in front of Lav."

"Done gossiping back there, Thomas?" Tom asked with a rasping voice.

Dean rolled his eyes and began making his way to the counter. "Later, Harry."

"Bye." Harry retrieved his backpack and exited the pub, calling out to the patrons, "Good night, gents!"

"Night, Green!" they chorused.

He unlocked his bicycle from the rack and hopped on. He pedaled down the sidewalk, enjoying the cool autumn air and hummed a catchy tune.

* * *

Harry arrived at his flat a little before half-past eight. The lights were on inside but he knew that Terry was out for some Halloween get together with some old mates of his until nine or so. Harry unlocked the door and left his bike by the entrance, locking the door behind him before entering his room.

It was a fairly spartan affair. There was a small book shelf with a few textbooks and some records, as well as Tolkien mixed with C.S. Lewis and Anne Rice. Notebooks and pencils were scattered on Harry's desk, along with an actual slide rule – Harry never had much luck with calculators, especially any of the fancier ones. A folded chess set and a few stacked board games lay on top of his dresser, with a LP player on the side. A row of plastic toy soldiers lined the windowsill above his bed, a reminder of a different life.

Harry took out his wand from inside his backpack and placed both by his bed. He undressed and tossed his clothes into the laundry hamper for later. He went inside the loo and entered the shower, turning on the hot water. He soaked and scrubbed for a quick ten minutes, tension fading from his muscles. He toweled off, redressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, grabbed his wand, and exited into the main room.

By mutual agreement, Harry was never allowed into Terry's room, which was on the other side of the flat. It contained some of the few electronics in the flat – a TV, a small laptop, and Terry's mobile. Terry didn't actually use much in the way of electronics often either – making him Harry's most understanding flatmate to date – but he still minded when his newest mobile went up in smoke from being around Harry for too long.

In exchange, Terry agreed to let Harry use the basement for his own purposes and left him alone when he was down there. This was a good thing because Harry doubted that Terry would be amused by waking up in the middle of the night to the flat burning down due to some of Harry's more explosive _experiments_.

Harry unlocked the basement door, placing the "Do Not Disturb" sign over the handle. It was dark inside, so he waved his wand and murmured, " _Candelas inflammare_."

The room was suddenly illuminated as several candles around the room burst up into bright blue flame.

The basement was much more interesting than Harry's room. There was a bookshelf next to two tables, the larger one filled with all kinds of obscure devices and instruments – the vast majority of which Harry had constructed for his various experiments and most of which were failures. A copper lined circle on the floor was on the opposite end of the room. There was a long shelf filled with several boxes and containers. Harry had put up the equivalent of a small firing range along one of the walls, complete with paper and cardboard targets. There was even a cot in the corner because Harry spent almost all of his free time down here. Most importantly, a fully-functioning fire extinguisher was secured by the basement door.

Locking the door behind him, Harry placed his wand on one of the tables, before retrieving and donning a pair of gloves, a lab coat, and goggles. He put the wand into the front pocket of the coat and strode over to the bookshelf. It was larger than the one in his room and was brimming with books. He had treatises on alchemy and philosophy from Aristotle to ibn Sina, texts on Wicca, a collection of legends on the Tuatha Dé Danann, historical analyses of Greco-Roman mythology, several paperbacks he had randomly picked out of the metaphysics section at the local bookstore, and more.

A lot of it was nonsense, Harry had to admit. He couldn't exactly go to Blackwell's or Foyles and tell the staff _I need books on magic – not the kind of magic you see on Penn & Teller, but real magic of the Gandalf variety_ without looking as though he had completely lost the plot. Determining fact from fiction from those books had involved a significant degree of trial and error on Harry's part – and more than one accidental fire.

Harry _had_ found at least two absolutely genuine books on working magic: Adalbert Waffling's _Magical Theory_ – an informative if dry treatise on the nature of magic – and Ebenezer McCoy's _Elementary Magic_. That second book had been Harry's equivalent of the Bible for the last four years, explaining not just the _why_ of manipulating magical energy, but thankfully also the _how_ of it. Where Harry had previously stumbled around with using magic, McCoy's book was a shining beacon in the dark, putting logic and sense into what had seemed like a completely haphazard field.

He retrieved his copy of _Elementary Magic_ , one of his Elder Futhark texts, his lab book, and the two mirrors he had been working for the last few days. Yesterday, he had reworked his rune scheme and had carefully re-carved and recharged the runes into this new pair of mirrors – the first two attempts had blown up due to magical backlash.

 _Explosions happen too bloody often around me_ , Harry mentally grumbled.

He began by quickly comparing the carved runes to the bookmarked section in Page's _Runes_ as well as double-checking the calculations and rune scheme he had worked up in his lab book. He had done this in more detail last night, but he wanted one last check. Finally, he re-read McCoy's discussion on the principles of assuring sympathetic connections between previously unpaired inanimate objects, as well as his later discussions on holomancy and phonoturgy.

Thaumaturgy wasn't Harry's strongest suit – he preferred evocation really, but re-reading McCoy made Harry feel a little better about his task. Assuming he did everything correctly, when he spoke the command phrase, light and sound reflected in one mirror would be reflected in the companion mirror and vice versa. The resulting prototype would be the magical equivalent of a mobile, except this one wouldn't spontaneously combust in his presence.

He had been able to link light and sound separately between pairs of mirrors in the past. That had been simple. Now, he was trying to link light _and_ sound, while also making it inducible by a specific phrase _and_ ensuring it could be magically recharged without interfering with any of the intended functions.

Harry left the books on the table and walked inside the circle with mirrors in hand. He knelt down and placed a gloved hand against the border of the circle.

 _Here goes nothing, Harry_. _Third times the charm, right?_

He released his will and felt the invisible energies of the circle snap into place, creating an isolated space where random magical energies wouldn't interfere with Harry's task. One of the first rules about working new enchantments was to keep a magically sterile environment – it also helped to have a physically sterile one as well.

The lab coat itself had minor enchantments against kinetic and thermal energy but the risk of magical contamination was low. Ironically, Harry had suffered quite a bit of kinetic and thermal backlash from the first few versions of the coat, all of them resounding disasters. The lab coat he had constructed before the latest one had almost blown up with him _inside_ it – he knew to throw it off when it started smoking at the corners – which would have been a rather messy and embarrassing end to Harry's study of magic.

Thankfully, the coat he wore currently worked just fine. It wouldn't stop a bullet or a fireball, but it would protect him from some of the more common accidents that tended to happen around him. Harry could accept the slight loss in magical stability in favor of helping to keep his face intact.

He placed both mirrors face down inside the circle. Kneeling down, Harry inhaled deeply and gathered his will as he traced slow spiraling arcs in the air with his holly wand. He began to softly incant, " _Vereinen, zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en, vereinen, zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en…_ "

The runes carved on the back of the mirror began to glow with pale purple light. Harry kept his will bound tightly and held the command phrase fixed at the forefront of his mind even as he kept chanting.

" _Vereinen, zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en, vereinen, zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en…_ "

The runes continued to pulse, shining brighter and brighter. Harry incanted louder and his wand moved faster as he felt his will harden and congeal.

" _Vereinen, zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en! Vereinen, zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en! Vereinen…_ "

Amethyst light blazed from the runes and Harry could feel the energy within the circle like a physical presence against his skull. He then jabbed this wand downward, unleashing his will, and shouted, " _Zusammenschlie_ _β_ _en_!"

Invisible power struck against the back of both mirrors and Harry could almost feel them struggling to incorporate it. He panted, slightly worn out from holding onto the energy for so long. The runes dimmed as Harry counted off thirty seconds in his head. _No explosions yet – that's a good sign, right?_

He picked up the mirrors. They appeared to be physically intact, but now came the actual test. He placed a mirror on one side of the circle and stood with the other mirror, his reflection peering back at him.

Closing his eyes and putting up an arm to shield his face, Harry slowly said, " _Übertragung_."

Nothing happened.

Harry blinked and looked at the mirror in his hand – it continued to faithfully display his person. He glanced at the mirror on the ground, still reflecting the ceiling. Harry put the mirror in his hand on the ground and picked up the other one, his grip loose and ready to drop it if he even _thought_ it was going to explode. The second mirror he had picked up was slightly vibrating, so Harry repeated the command phrase, " _Übertragung_."

The mirror suddenly cleared and all Harry could see was the gray surface of his ceiling. He looked back at the mirror he had left behind, which now showed his face in profile.

"Bloody hell, it worked!" Harry exclaimed gleefully, the mirror on the ground echoing him. "It really worked!"

Harry tested out both mirrors for the next five minutes, making faces and noises until he was satisfied. Chuckling, he said, " _Übertragung_ ," and both mirrors returned to normal. He put them in his pocket and scuffed the edge of the circle with his boot, breaking the circle and allowing magical energy to free flow once more.

He'd still have to see how distance between the mirrors affected their function, but he was willing to call tonight's experiment a resounding success. He put the mirrors in a labeled box on his shelf and stripped off his protective gear. He could hear the front door opening upstairs – Terry must have come back.

Harry exited the basement, extinguishing the candles and locking the door behind him.

He strode towards the front of the flat, wand in the back pocket of his jeans. "Good party, Terry? By the way, Seamus wanted to know if Lav–"

Harry froze when he saw who was at the front. It wasn't just Terry.

Black robes. Skull-shaped masks. Bone white staves.

They stood just outside the flat, the one on the left holding a staff towards the open doorway while the other held Terry by his hair with staff at his throat, forcing him to kneel. Terry's eyes were with fright and he was bleeding from his forehead.

Harry advanced towards the door and drew his wand, keeping it low but at the ready. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

The robed figure on the left, slightly hunched over, took notice of Harry first. " _This_ be the one the Dark Lord wants? He's not got even the simplest of wards. D'yeh even practice the Art, boy?" he rasped coarsely and Harry could hear the derision in his voice.

"Harry, what the hell is going on?" Terry squeaked.

The short and stocky thug holding Terry pulled back on his hair and pushed the end of the staff further against Terry's throat. Terry sputtered and coughed. A cruel feminine voice spoke, "Keep your fat gob shut. Mouth off again and we'll see how far I can shove this down your throat."

Wisely, Terry shut up at that. Harry resisted the temptation to raise his wand and start cursing both of them. He could tell that neither of them were mundane. "Answer the question – who are you? What do you want with Terry?"

The female giggled wheezily. "It ain't your little boyfriend the Dark Lord's after, _Potter_. He wants _you_."

Harry stiffened. "You're making a big mistake. There is no Potter here. You've come to the wrong place. Just let Terry go and we can all walk away from this."

The man chuckled. "Yeh don't even know your own name, Harry Potter?" He eyed the wand that Harry gripped tightly. "But, maybe yeh know a thing or two about magic – wanna scrap it out and see?"

"My name is Harry Green. You've come to the wrong place," Harry repeated. "Listen – whatever business you think you have with me, Terry doesn't have anything to do with it either way. Just let him go."

"But, we haven't even had a chance to play!" The stocky woman gave another awful wheezy giggle and released Terry's hair, patting his head. Terry whimpered, his eyes bright with tears. "Yes, yes, we could have so much _fun_ together."

Harry shivered – whatever and whoever she was, she was probably more than a little barmy in a not-so-harmless way. "Look, you want me, right? Well right now, I'm behind a threshold and you're on the other side. Just let Terry go and I'll walk out. Then we settle whatever you think this is about."

The man snorted. "Like this dump is gonna have anything like a real threshold, whelp. Won't slow us down none."

Harry tensed, ready to move at a moment's notice. Whoever they were, they weren't budging. He had grappled with paranormal threats a few times in the past. He had knocked out a troll when he was eleven (though that involved more luck than actual skill), chased off a rogue werewolf when he was thirteen (the werewolf might have been more than a little drunk prior to transforming), and dealt with a man-eating shapeshifter last year – now that encounter had been legitimate!

But he had never gone toe-to-toe with an actual practitioner, let alone two of them. As much as Harry liked to think he was good when it came to evocation, he had a feeling it wouldn't be enough against these two.

And Terry was in the direct line of fire. If a full-blown magical firefight broke out, he'd be caught between the three of them – the absolute worst place to be. Harry had to find some way of getting Terry out of this mess – and _fast_.

The woman was no longer holding Terry in place – her staff just rested lightly beneath his throat. Harry would have to act without warning and he would have only one shot at this.

"Looks like I'm wizard enough for your 'Dark Lord' to care. Who is he anyway, some loser living in his Mum's basement who got pissed off because he was too ugly to get a girl?" The taunt was childish and uninspired, but Harry wasn't attempting to engage in scholarly debate here.

The woman snarled at that, raising her staff at Harry – and away from Terry. "You _dare_ –"

"Alecto –" the man started to say.

Exactly the reaction Harry was hoping for. He quickly raised his wand, focusing his will upon Terry, and shouted, " _Accio!_ "

Terry suddenly jerked, caught by the invisible force of Harry's spell, and was abruptly yanked in Harry's direction towards the open doorway. Harry's heart thudded in triumph, but the man had kept his staff aimed towards the doorway the whole time.

" _Vindskære_!"

A supersonic _crack!_ ripped through the autumn air. Wet blood splashed against Harry's face as something slammed hard against his chest. Coughing out the blood and thankful he had closed his eyes in time, Harry looked down at what he had caught with his other hand. Terry's head stared up at him. Terry's eyes blinked once, twice, his mouth agape. Blood poured out from the stump where it had been connected to his neck, staining Harry's shirt and jeans.

Harry stared for a long moment before he dropped the dismembered head. It bounced off Terry's back and came to rest against his severed right arm. Harry swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and looked back at the two sorcerers, his hands shaking. They both had their staves in a high-ready position and Harry had kept his wand loose and at his side.

No one spoke.

Then the man fractionally inclined his head.

All hell broke loose.


	2. TWO

TWO

THE FIRST few moments in a fight tend to be the most critical. Real combat encounters are typically decided within seconds of actually starting. The person who was able to shoot first was also usually the one that left alive at the end of it.

Throw magic into the mix and things become even complicated. If your enemies can immolate you with fireballs, blast you with waves of kinetic energy, or melt you with streams of acid, being caught flat-footed would mean that you would be very quickly and very messily dead. Despite popular belief, people survived gunshots and knife wounds all the time. Lightning bolts weren't as easy to recover from.

Immediately after dropping Terry's head, Harry was already cobbling together a makeshift plan. Dimly he noted that he could still taste the coppery tang of Terry's blood on his tongue, but he put that out of his mind for now.

He was in a bad position, standing just behind an open doorway with two full practitioners right outside. Any spells they cast would funnel right through to him and his threshold probably wasn't good enough to prevent them from doing some serious damage. He had to move out of the killing zone and retreat back into the house. But he couldn't move without risking getting tagged by one of the sorcerers on the way out. He needed a distraction.

And so with speed and strength that surprised himself, Harry grabbed the bicycle he had left by the door with one hand and in one solid jerk he tossed it in the direction of the open entrance. The sorcerers were already lowering their staves at this time, the engraved runes along their lengths glowing with pale blue light.

He hadn't thrown the bicycle very far, but he wasn't relying on his physical strength alone. The bike was falling to the ground when Harry cut a flat horizontal arc with his wand in his other hand and shouted, " _Depulso!_ "

A wave of invisible power grasped the bike in mid-air, stopping its descent and abruptly launching outward with so much force that one of the handlebars snapped clean off as it struck the edge of the door. The flying handlebar painfully clipped Harry's shoulder on the rebound but Harry was already on the retreat. The man simply snarled and clawed his hand upward. A column of wailing wind suddenly appeared and blew the rapidly accelerating bike upwards and away, slamming it into a nearby tree. The bike broke apart, steel pieces raining down around the two practitioners.

Harry was still sprinting back down the hallway towards the lounge. He felt a ripple of magic gathering behind him and he slid to a stop and turned just as the woman completed a downward stroke of her staff. He thrust out his left hand, collected his will, and incanted, " _Contego!_ "

A concave dome of pure force burst into existence just as a wave of blue-black energy slammed against it, throwing up a coruscating medley of orange flashes. The screaming force died down and dissipated to nothing – her evocation had been dampened by Harry's threshold and his shield had been on point.

Harry canceled the shield and plunged into the sitting room. With a swish and horizontal flick of the wand he hurled the sofa into the backend of the hallway, knocking over the center table and scattering the remnants of last night's pizza on the floor. The sofa would slow the thugs down for all of two seconds maybe but Harry was making things up as they went along as it was.

He didn't have the time to second guess himself. Another swish and flick sent the fallen table right behind the sofa, reinforcing his makeshift barrier. The situation was still pear-shaped – the only exit out of his flat was blocked by two sorcerers that clearly had some power to throw around.

 _Okay, Harry, two tossers with a murder-on for you are about to come careening through that hallway. Now, what the bloody_ hell _can you do about that?_

There was a supersonic _crack!_ as blades of wind and force magic ripped through the sofa, throwing up wood and fluff into the air that rebounded off of Harry's hastily cast shield spell. The excess energy slammed into the table and it skidded across the floor with a painful screech back towards the room's center. Immediately afterwards, another volley of blue-black power lanced past Harry, plowing right through the center table of the lounge and scattering wooden fragments about the room, stray pieces bouncing off of Harry's shield.

The male sorcerer strode into view, staff clacking against the linoleum floor. Harry dispelled his shield again and raised his wand. The man saw Harry and immediately crossed his arms into a defensive gesture, but Harry wasn't aiming at him. Pointing his wand at the ceiling and calling upon his will, Harry roared, " _Reducto!_ "

Harry's wand vibrated as a red comet of destructive force shot out, gouging a massive hole right through the ceiling as it continued into the cool October evening sky. The man whirled around, silver-white light gathering around his arms as he began to shout an incantation but his voice was drowned out as a deluge of wood and plaster crashed on top of him. The other practitioner, short and stocky, had been right behind the first, coming to a skidding halt before the debris.

"Amycus!" Her gaze shifted to Harry, grey eyes focused with hate. "You'll bleed for that, Potter! _Storkraft!_ "

An azure hammer of raw force was launched at Harry, but he dispersed it with another fast _"Contego!"_ and with a swish and a sideways flick of his wand sent a nearby chair flying towards her. She screamed in anger and splayed out the fingers of her hand. The chair broke against an invisible shield, sending up blue-white sparks. Another swish and a flick sent another chair, but she blocked it all the same and Harry hurriedly shielded against her return shot of kinetic energy.

Harry suddenly felt his feet slipping out from under him and yelped. The downed sorcerer was still buried beneath the ceiling debris but had remained conscious. He was pointing his hand at a spot below Harry's feet, gripping the rug in a telekinetic grasp. Harry got his bearings, steadying himself against the nearby wall as he backed away from the rug.

He barely shielded the next blast of kinetic energy from the witch – some of the energy seeped through and struck against Harry like a sharp full-body slap. He prepared to retaliate with a spell, but was forced to maintain his defense as the man launched a congealed bolt of wind in a flash of silver-white light.

The man got to his feet, shrugging off pieces of plaster and wood even as he let loose with yet another wind bullet. His mask had fallen off, revealing a lumpy face contorted into an odd lopsided leer. Meanwhile, the stocky female sorcerer began circling him towards the right, throwing another bolt of raw force that Harry shielded. He realized that they were trying to box him in, trying to force him to defend from two different angles.

"Give up, boy! You can't hold out forever!" the man shouted, before launching a volley of wind blasts.

 _Bugger it, he's right_ , Harry thought grimly.

While he could broaden and extend his shield if he needed to, it would require more power to maintain the same level of defensive strength. And as good as Harry was at evocation, he couldn't cast spells indefinitely. Harry had left the hallway because he didn't want to be caught in the fatal funnel – ironically, moving to the larger space in the sitting room may have been the worse choice given how the two practitioners were using it to their advantage.

He had no difficulty shielding their spells for now but two-on-one odds in an enclosed space were still pretty dire when it came to magical combat. He was in one hell of a pickle. The male sorcerer seemed to blasting him with some hybrid of aeromancy and kinetomancy, whereas the witch was using pure kinetomancy by the looks of it. The two practitioners were just a few feet away, throwing about force and wind magic that kept Harry on the defensive, each one covering for the other's downtime between spells.

Their power was degraded since they had crossed the threshold uninvited, but getting hit with even one of their spells could still have potentially lethal consequences. And in a few moments, as the woman kept moving to the right, he would be forced to extend the scope of his shield or risk getting tagged. It would only be a matter of time before Harry ran out of juice. He couldn't afford to stay purely on the defensive.

Harry flinched as he felt some of the energy of the next force blast slip through, as if someone had lashed his face with a stick. He was going to have to do something drastic – and given the close quarters he was in, probably insanely risky as well.

He inhaled deeply and cancelled his shield, just after dispersing a wind blade, and dropped flat on his stomach. The woman's follow-up lance of dark blue kinetic energy shot over his head, destroying a bookshelf on the other end of the sitting room and peppering Harry's back with a shower of wooden splinters and paper.

He ignored it. Still on the floor, Harry aimed his wand at a point on the floor just ahead of the two thugs, unleashed his will, and snapped, " _Incendio!_ "

A plume of brilliant orange-red fire leaped from Harry's wand, igniting against the linoleum floor in a rushing roar. Searing heat washed back over Harry, his skin uncomfortably warm and rapidly growing even hotter. The two sorcerers were obscured by the flames and Harry heard a distinctly feminine shriek – whether out of anger or pain Harry didn't know and he didn't care.

Unsteadily getting to his feet and backing away from the growing flames, he jerked his wand and the bonfire spread into a line covering the length of the room, separating him from the sorcerers. Some of the flames licked up at the ceiling as the air was starting to become thick with smoke and Harry was finding it quickly growing difficult to breathe. The room was a smoldering, unrecognizable mess now – a half minute of full-blown magical combat could do that.

The fire continued to grow, beginning to darken the walls and the ceiling, and while Harry had blocked off the sorcerers, he had also blocked off the only way out of the house.

The only way out if Harry wasn't a practitioner anyway. _If I can't get to an exit, I'll just have to make one,_ he thought, as he aimed his wand at a nearby window.

He paused for a moment. The air seemed to be getting cooler when it should have been growing even hotter. The shrieking from the other side didn't sound purely human anymore. There was a distinctive howl and Harry felt the air rapidly swirling inside the room, beginning to disperse and dissipate the conflagration with alarming speed.

"Bloody hell!" Harry spat, even as the fire and smoke died down, revealing the singed but intact sorcerers and the blackened ruins of Harry's sitting room. He didn't waste any more time and he threw his left arm up to cover his head. " _Reducto!"_

The bolt of destructive energy shattered the window, throwing most of the glass fragments out and away from the inside of the flat. Harry cried out in pain as a few shards blew back, slicing into his forearm but thankfully not into his face. He jumped out of the window, more stray bits of glass cutting into his arm and jeans even as a blast of kinetic energy just missed him.

He landed hard on the concrete ground, the impact pushing the glass even further into Harry's arm. He bit down a scream and shakily got to his feet, his hands slippery and wet with what was probably blood. He looked down to survey the damage – two large fragments of glass were embedded along his arm. He experimentally wiggled his fingers – it looked like there wasn't any undue damage to the nerves or tendons, which was a relief.

Gritting his teeth, he gingerly grasped one of the fragments and yanked it out, hissing in barely restrained pain. He quickly repeated the agonizing process on the other piece of glass. Blood freely flowed from two long slices and Harry realized that immediately pulling out the glass may not have been the brightest idea he had. He awkwardly pressed his arm against his chest, hoping the pressure would slow down the blood loss.

He ran unsteadily down towards the street, before bracing his good arm against one of the cars parked outside, a four-door saloon. By this time, the lights on the other units were on and Harry could see some tenants outside their doors.

"Wha' in the bleeding 'ell is going on with all that racket?" demanded one of them, an older man with balding hair and wearing a bathrobe. "Bloody yobs and Halloween – the 'ell! Is that a body?" He had taken notice of Terry's decapitated corpse just outside the entrance to Harry's flat.

"Get back inside!" Harry shouted back at him. "Call 999! Just get inside –"

There was an almighty crash and Harry looked behind him to see part of the front wall of his flat burst outward in an explosion of plaster and wood. Amidst the debris, both sorcerers strode out, staves in hand. They paused when they noticed Harry. Harry wanted to scream in frustration – and pain since his left arm was still bleeding.

The man in the bathrobe paled and quickly reentered his flat, slamming his door shut. The two practitioners didn't hesitate after that – bolts of blue-black and silver-white energy rapidly approached Harry. Harry brought up his wand as if he were parrying a sword and once again incanted, _"Contego!"_

Harry had no problem shielding their spells before. That had been back when they were hampered by his threshold, even as puny as it was, and their evocations had less metaphysical heft. Now that they were outside, they were free to unleash their full power.

Harry's shield lit up in a blinding flash of orange light and he stumbled backward past the car, his stomach aching as though he had taken a vicious gut punch. Some of the energy of their combined assault had bled through and he had forgotten to reinforce the shield enough to compensate for their regained power.

He staggered behind the saloon and the next wind bullet missed him, shattering the window of a parked car behind Harry. He ducked, avoiding another force bolt and felt the impact jostle the saloon, slightly rocking Harry back. Harry cringed as a follow-up blast of raw kinetic energy shattered the windows of the saloon, raining glass on top of him. He had just gotten his already bloodied left arm to cover his head in time and even now a few stray fragments of glass sliced into it. Harry dimly wondered if he was even going to _have_ an arm by the time this was over.

He started to get up to move out to the side but a razorblade of solidified air opened up a long gash along the roadway. He braced his back against the driver side door of the saloon, trying to escape to the other side but the car dangerously rocked forward as the next blast of kinetic energy impacted.

They were trying to pin him down again. Harry swore.

"Every! Bloody! Halloween!"

Still covered by the saloon, he aimed his wand over the bonnet, drew upon his will, and intoned, " _Depulso!_ "

A broad wave of unseen force was launched out from the wand over his head – and hopefully back towards the two sorcerers. He heard a shout on the other side of the saloon – he must have gotten one of them by surprise. Harry got to his feet, trying to ignore the burning pain in his left arm, and raised a shield just another hammer of kinetic energy slammed into it. He had angled his shield this time, redirecting the energy rather than meeting it head on.

He saw the witch, running down the steps away from the flat and towards the roadway, the tip of her staff ablaze with azure light. He didn't see the other sorcerer – Harry must have gotten him with his kinetic attack.

Now that he was no longer kept locked down by both sorcerers, he had considerably more options to work with. If there was one thing Harry physically excelled at, it was running. It had been a practical necessity when he was much younger and the skill still proved useful now from time to time. A time like now, for example. As much magical mojo these two thugs may have had, they didn't look built for speed.

Harry began to sprint down the roadway, running perpendicular to the woman. Her lance of blue-black power went wide, caving in the bonnet of a car that Harry had passed by. She ran alongside him, but was clearly slower than him. Still, she tried to compensate for his speed and the next bolt of force was much closer. Harry avoided it by inches and the sleeves of his shirt were violently ruffled in the spell's wake.

Harry then skidded to an abrupt halt, anticipating that it would throw off her aim. The sorcerer's next attack missed completely, carving a furrow into the roadway just ahead of him. He had kept his wand aimed at her the whole time and immediately after she finished casting her evocation, he gathered his will and shouted, " _Reducto!_ "

A crimson sphere of shearing and crushing destructive force roared out of the length of holly and slammed against the shield the practitioner scarcely raised up in time. She hadn't succeeded in cancelling out all of the energy of the attack and she stumbled backwards, off balanced by the force of the spell. With that Harry felt a hope rising in him – there was actually a chance now that he might _survive_.

He had been stuck mostly on the defensive ever since the whole mess had begun – it was time to turn the tables. The witch was starting to get her bearings to either attack or reinforce her defense, but Harry wasn't going to give her the opportunity. He drew in his will once again and intoned, " _Reducto!"_

A scarlet spiral of destructive force slammed against the woman's shield, sending up arcs of blue-white energy. Even more power had bled through her defense and Harry watched with satisfaction as she staggered, falling to her knees and bracing herself with her staff. She was caught out in the open and couldn't shield and attack at the same time. She was forced to maintain the shield for now. He had her right where he wanted her.

Harry strode forward, keeping his wand aimed at her.

" _Reducto!"_

His wand buckled as his most powerful attack yet struck home. Her silhouette was illuminated in a brilliant medley of azure and ruby light as her defenses were overloaded. The sorcerer fell backwards on her arse with a cry, barely keeping ahold of her staff. She was surrounded by a ring of pulverized concrete from where she had redirected some of the energy of Harry's attack.

Harry continued to advance and drew in power once more. This fourth attack would be it – this would finish the fight once and for all. " _Reduc—_ "

Harry paused, bright red energy gathered at the tip of his wand. He looked down at the woman. She had gotten back up on her knees, her hand weakly gripping her staff and her mask askew. Her robes looked significantly worse for the wear as well. In her current state, Harry knew that there was a pretty good chance that she wouldn't be able to get up an adequate shield in time.

He was well aware just what this particular evocation was all about. It was a nasty bit of kinetomancy that threw a rapidly moving mass of shearing and crushing force, designed to rip, tear, and smash through solid objects. He had developed it mainly to blast holes through objects and it performed quite well at that task.

Harry could do some serious damage with it and he had used it earlier in the fight to blow open an opening straight through the top of his flat. And now, he had been gathering even more power than when he had destroyed a section of his ceiling. It could utterly rip apart wood, plaster, and concrete as he had just seen. If Harry used that particular spell against human flesh, it would be even more destructive – and significantly _messier_.

Harry would be lying to himself if he said that part of him didn't like what was happening to the witch. _He_ had made her submit to his power. He proven himself as her magical superior, brought her down to her knees. Harry could have easily let loose with the last spell and disintegrated her into a mess of blood, flesh, and shattered bone. It would be so easy. _Why not go all the way?_ a distant part of Harry whispered. _She's yours for the taking – finish her._

And yet, Harry didn't want to be that kind of person. Despite the fact that these two thugs had brutally and casually murdered his flatmate, despite having torn apart and practically destroyed his flat, despite mangling his arm and nearly inflicting serious or fatal injuries upon his person – despite all that, Harry wasn't sure if he was ready to outright _kill_ one of them. Actually, he was pretty sure that he _wasn't_.

For all of his skill at evocation, Harry had never killed anyone before. He had thrown about some unfriendly spells a few times in the past to ward off a couple of paranormal threats, most notably against the cannibalistic shape-shifter from last year. But until today, the only person that had ever been at serious risk of dying from his evocations had been him with his own recklessness. The thought of becoming a killer sickened Harry and he lowered the wand, his bloodlust ebbing and the red energy gathered at the tip of his wand dying away.

It was the hesitation that cost him. Harry barely saw it – a humanoid shimmer of distorted air moving rapidly across his line of sight and in a flash of silver-white light, he was struck by what felt like a murderously hard punch against his sternum. Harry was physically flung all the way across the street and his back slammed against the side of a 4x4 on the opposite end, knocking the air out of him. He couldn't even draw breath to scream in pain as his left arm had crashed against the side of the car, the agony of his bloodied arm returning to him in full force as he slid to the ground.

He had dropped his wand beside him, his right arm weakly lolling out to one side. Harry just lay there for several moments, his ribs creaking as air painfully returned to his lungs. He could hear steps against the tarmac of the roadway but he didn't pay attention as he tried to mentally recover. He was then jerked forward by the collar of his shirt and abruptly dragged up to his feet before he was unceremoniously slammed against one of the doors of the 4x4.

"Yeh think you can hurt my sister without me doing something about it, boy? That yer can knock me down without me returning the favor?"

The man's breath was hot against his ear and Harry shuddered. His lumpy face was inches away and Harry avoided his eyes. The practitioner held Harry up against the 4x4, his hand wrapped in the material of his T-shirt as he pressed his forearm against Harry's chest. His other hand was by Harry's ear, his fingers wreathed in flickers of argent light.

"Gotta say tha' you surprised me and Alecto, Potter. When the Dark Lord told us to get yer, we didn't expect ya to have this much fight. You're bloody strong for just a boy. Too bad you're gutless – I wouldn't a held back like you did there."

The man's forearm pressed further into his chest and Harry gave a little gasp of pain. His ribs must have been more injured than he had thought. His wand was on the ground just at his feet but Harry couldn't do anything about that. His arms were free and at his side but they might as well be on the other side of London – he'd never get a chance to get raise them in time before the man cut loose with a close range wind evocation.

"You're lucky the Dark Lord wants you alive." The man then eyed Harry speculatively, as if pondering something. "Still, I can't just let yer get away with yeh did – me and sister look out for each other, see? And we both know tha' with magic, the meaning of being alive is more… _flexible_."

Harry looked up in alarm at that. The man chuckled, his face settled again into a lopsided leer as he cocked back his arm, the silver-white light growing brighter. Was this it? Was he going to be made this freak's plaything, maimed and disfigured at his leisure?

 _No_.

Anger, terror, and fury flooded Harry, giving him the strength and willpower to do what he did next. For as much magical prowess as the sorcerer may have had, he hadn't actually done a proper job of physically containing Harry. For instance, he hadn't done anything to restrict Harry's lower body. Harry slammed his knee upwards, catching the man firmly right between his legs.

The sorcerer howled in pain, his forearm leaving Harry's chest as Harry drove in with this shoulder, sending the man staggering back. His attack barely missed Harry, almost carving through his cheek. Instead, a scythe of silver energy sliced into the 4x4, opening up a long gash across the surface of one of its doors. Harry ignored it. His veins throbbed with rage and he wanted nothing more than to see the sorcerer submit to his wrath. Harry then slapped his right palm against the sorcerer's throat, wanting nothing more than to rip it apart.

The practitioner stared at Harry's arm, his eyes growing wide with fear.

"Wait –"

Harry didn't think or wait. He was on a high of adrenaline and bloodlust at this point and he cast the spell almost out of reflex.

" _Depulso!"_

A point-blank hammer of invisible force smashed into the underside of the man's chin, snapping his head back. There was a wet crack when the spell had hit and he was thrown straight up, twisting in the air. He crashed limply back to Earth several feet away, falling flat on his stomach. Harry summoned his wand from the ground with a flicker of will and caught it with his waiting hand. He brought it to bear upon the prone practitioner but it was quite unnecessary.

The man was spread-eagled on the ground, palms face down. Harry was confused for a moment – the man was lying on his stomach, yet his head was facing up. His confusion cleared when he took in the sorcerer's sightless eyes, the man's head rotated to an impossible degree. Harry breathed heavily for a few long moments, savoring his triumph. He had beaten him – he had _destroyed_ him.

And then the realization struck him like the thunderbolt. The practitioner was dead – all of the energy of Harry's spell had been concentrated just under his chin and must have snapped his neck. It was a spell that Harry had used hundreds of times before but he had never done something like this with it.

He had _killed_ the man.

Harry was now a killer.

Harry collapsed to his knees and vomited messily onto the roadway. He had just _murdered_ a man. He began replaying the events of the evening in his head and a mental image of Terry's amputated head made him throw up again. He kept heaving until he couldn't force anything else out further. He had just killed someone for the first time. The man was a murderer, true, but even so, Harry hadn't wanted to be the one to put an end to him. And he didn't like the idea of even part of him _reveling_ even however briefly at the man's demise.

Harry saw frantic movement out of the corner of his eye. "Amycus? No! Amycus! You bastard!"

A wave of raw kinetic energy slammed Harry back up against the 4x4, expelling breath and bile from his mouth. Another burst of energy forced his limbs apart. He tried to gesture with his wand but he felt like there was a massive weight against his body, keeping him spread-eagle against the car and locked into place.

The woman strode towards him, her mask gone and her ugly face contorted with rage. Her grey eyes were streaked with tears even as they shone with hate. She kept her hand pointed at Harry, staff in her other hand, and then slowly spread out her fingers. Harry gasped as he felt his limbs being stretched out. It wouldn't take much more pressure before they would be dislocated – or worse.

"I should rip your limbs off one by one, you little _cockroach_. I could make you scream for hours… Amycus was my brother, you son of a bitch!"

He wasn't paying too much attention to the voice – he was consumed with pain. He wanted to scream but his lungs wouldn't cooperate – he couldn't as long as that awful pressure kept him pinned against the 4x4, feeling as though he was going to be flattened to mush at any moment. His entire body was in agony, his bones creaking as they were being forced out of place. Harry thought that he was going to die a rather horrible and painful death soon.

"But, the Dark Lord needs you alive… for _now_. And when he finishes you off, keep my brother's face in mind when you're sent screaming to hell."

The terrible pressure suddenly ceased and Harry fell back onto the ground, unable to move even a finger. It was almost a relief when the sorcerer's staff smashed against the side of his head, sending Harry into blissful oblivion.


	3. THREE

THREE

HARRY AWOKE sometime later. He had been having the most _awful_ nightmare involving those robed figures again. He was knackered and would have yawned if not for the gag in his mouth–

 _Hang on, gag?_

He took stock of his situation. He was on his side, his feet tied together and his arms were uncomfortably behind his back, bound by what felt like a pair of cold and painfully sharp handcuffs. His mouth was tightly gagged with what tasted like some piece of cloth. He felt thirsty and his limbs ached, with his left arm throbbing with a dull, pulsating pain. He lightly bounced up and down – he was in the back of a moving van by the looks of it, a single dingy light the only illumination he had.

The inside of the van smelled horrible and Harry shifted uncomfortably in place, managing to turn around. And then he was grateful that the gag had muffled his shout of surprise when he came eye to eye with what looked like a dead body. Lifeless grey eyes on a lumpy face stared back at him. This was the man he had just killed earlier and he was starting to smell. Harry stared.

 _That's right – that wasn't a nightmare I just remembered. It really happened._

Harry angled his head left and right, but he couldn't see anything else of interest. Most importantly, Harry's wand was missing. The other sorcerer – her name had been Alecto, Harry recalled – must be driving the van, taking him somewhere to do something with him. Harry doubted it would be particularly pleasant, whatever her plans were. He breathed deeply and began to draw on his will.

The gag once again muted his scream as what felt like dozens of thorns made of bitingly cold ice suddenly raked across his wrists. He tried drawing on his will again – with the same incredibly painful result and Harry felt as if his hands were going to fall off. He had never come across anything like this – he didn't know that anything could block magic like this besides a circle or running water. Just what kind of people was he dealing with?

 _I'm gagged and tied up in the back of some van next to the body of some man I just killed. His half-crazed sister is driving us to God knows where and I can't use magic. So, what_ can _I do?_

Magic was obviously out of the question for now. He could try to see if he could open the back door of the van, but even if he somehow succeeded in his currently bound condition, he would be jumping off the back of a rapidly moving vehicle into the middle of nowhere. Harry realized with a sinking feeling that he was trapped for now.

With nothing else to do – and trying to ignore the corpse beside him – Harry began to wrack his brains for anything that could be useful and began to mentally recount the nightmarish events of the evening. The two sorcerers were apparently brother and sister, Amycus and Alecto. Amycus had preferred using a combination of force and wind magic, whereas his sister seemed to exclusively use kinetomancy.

While they had some magical strength to throw around, neither of them seemed particularly clever – they could have easily taken Harry out much cleaner than the way Alecto had eventually gotten him. Amycus had probably made himself invisible or something when he had blindsided Harry earlier, but they largely seemed to prefer directly confronting Harry.

Both of them could have tried that invisibility trick or some other means of containing Harry besides brute force – they probably could have outright ambushed him inside his house from the beginning. They were good when it came to magical brawn, but Harry was lucky that they hadn't been smarter about how they went about trying to capture him.

As morbid as it was to consider, it was probably a good thing that he had managed to subdue one of his assailants, albeit permanently. When he got the next available opportunity to get the slip, he'd have just the one to deal with. Alecto would probably be a handful to deal with, especially after her brother had just died but Harry had been able to deal with her once before.

 _Does that mean that I should have finished off Alecto earlier? That man, Amycus, said I was gutless – was I wrong to spare her life? Should I have killed both of them and be done with it?_

Harry felt sick to his stomach again when he thought about what he had done. There had been almost no thought to it – just a quick and irreversible exchange of magical violence. One moment the man had been alive and healthy – the next, he was just a cooling corpse. It reminded Harry that as wonderful as magic could be, it could also be incredibly and frighteningly dangerous. He had wielded the power of life and death over Amycus and had chosen death.

One of the first lessons that Waffling's _Magical Theory_ stressed was the importance of one's beliefs and viewpoints in the practice of magic. You couldn't work magic you didn't fundamentally believe in and your magic was in its essence a reflection of who you were, of the kind of the person you _chose_ to be. Harry had chosen to kill Amycus – did that mean that he was just a killer at heart? That at his core, he was no better than Amycus, who had also chosen to almost just as easily end a life? Not only that, but a part of Harry had outright _enjoyed_ killing Amycus and celebrated sating his bloodlust. What did something like say about Harry's character?

Harry knew that the circumstances weren't equivalent. Amycus had murdered Terry on a whim, someone who posed absolutely no threat to him and he seemed like a horrible person all around. He had invaded Harry's home and murdered his friend and had been about to seriously hurt Harry. One could argue that he had forfeited all rights to life with those acts.

Harry instead had acted in self-defense. He hadn't instigated the encounter and he had tried to refrain from maiming them as much as he could – he could have easily aimed the fire spell he cast earlier directly at them, rather than just attempting to block them off. And he had stopped before casting that last _Reducto_ at Alecto.

Even with the laws against handguns and restrictions on carrying knives in the British Isles, there was such a thing as a lawful killing and one could use lethal force out of reasonable fear for one's life or person. While magic wasn't a conventional means of defense, it still fit within the spirit of the law. And getting angry at someone who was trying to kill you wasn't unusual. Even Harry's brief… _enjoyment_ of Amycus's death could be explained as just him coming down from an adrenaline-fueled high.

While he understood that intellectually, what the head thought and what the heart felt were two separate things. He still felt incredibly dirty, as if he were covered in black grime that refused to come off. Despite the consequences, Harry was glad that he hadn't killed Alecto – he didn't know how he would be feeling if he had killed not one, but two people back to back. Part of him would have been pleased that he had overcome two full sorcerers in a straight fight – and Harry didn't like the idea of ever enjoying something like killing someone else.

Harry decided to put the matter of his conscience aside for now. He had more pressing worries to consider. Alecto was probably taking him to this "Dark Lord," whoever he was, right this very moment. The only Dark Lords Harry knew about were from Star Wars and Tolkien, and he doubted that this Dark Lord was either Sith or Maia. In addition, this Dark Lord and his two followers had wanted _him_ specifically, but under a different name –"Harry Potter."

Was it possible that it was actually his real name? Harry had received his name from the orphanage he had grown up in because no one knew who his parents were. The matron had told him when he was six that his first name was "Harry" because it was what he was saying over and over when he was first placed there and his last name was "Green" for the color of his eyes. No one had ever found any evidence of who his real parents were and Harry had long put the matter to rest, although a small part of him still continued to wonder.

But, might someone not have known who his parents had been? What they had been like, what they did? Had they been practitioners like he was? Were they good people or the worst kind?

If this Dark Lord wanted Harry specifically so badly as to risk a magical firefight in the middle of London in full view of several mundanes, then his parents must have done something specifically to piss him off. This Dark Lord was after Harry _Potter_ not Harry Green. Maybe his parents were ex-followers of this Dark Lord and Harry was going to be made an example of. Or maybe the Dark Lord _was_ his father – Harry felt like giggling at that last thought, as out of place humor was at this time. It was useless anyway – he had nothing but baseless speculation at this point.

Harry could feel the van decelerating at this point. They must be getting close to wherever Alecto was taking him. It came to a gentle stop. He heard a door open and slam shut before he heard someone walking around to the back. The door abruptly flew open and Harry suddenly found himself flying forward, tossed outside the van and landed on the ground, flat on his back.

He gasped, pain lancing up his left arm – it was still tender from before. The witch was staring down at him with hate, her bone-white staff in one hand and what looked like Harry's wand in the other.

"I'd like nothing more than to rip you apart for Amycus and bury my brother in peace, but you're needed elsewhere for now, _Potter_. Come!"

With a jerk of her staff, Harry felt invisible cords of energy wrap around him, painfully squeezing his ribs. Alecto dragged her staff along the ground as she quickly walked away. Harry was rapidly pulled after, still flat on his back. He let loose muffled moans of pain from under the gag, every moment agonizing as his injured left arm roughly slid against gravel and dirt, tears streaming from his eyes. Amidst the pain, he took notice of his surroundings.

They were beside what looked like a small church alongside a country road. He gasped in pain as they moved upwards, his arms roughly bouncing across the ground and they went past the church. They walked under a massive yew tree, its leaves shrouding the moonlight, and Harry felt an inexplicable chill in his spine at the sight. After a minute of being painfully dragged along, Harry could start to see little headstones on his left and right. They were at a cemetery.

 _Now, that's not just incredibly creepy or anything, right?_ he thought with no small amount of trepidation. He was literally being dragged along to what was quickly looking like a painful death, at the hands of this "Dark Lord" no doubt, and Harry _still_ couldn't use his magic. He tried drawing in his will again out of desperation, but ice-cold thorns dug painfully into his wrists. He tried again and screamed as they bit down even harder, feeling as though his wrists were about to be ripped apart.

Alecto snorted at that last attempt. "Don't bother, boy. You're better off trying to saw off your wrists to the bone to get out of those."

 _If it comes to it_ , Harry thought, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. He attempted to wriggle his hands out of the cuffs, but all he succeeded in doing was causing more pain. There were supposed to be some odd Eastern contortionists that could slip out of darbies like these – they could dislocate and manipulate the bones of their hands almost at will, but Harry didn't have the slightest clue on how to do that.

He tried squirming and kicking out with his legs, but Alecto's force binding kept him from doing much of anything. He continued to be dragged along by Alecto, going down the length of the graveyard and Harry could see what looked like a fine old manor perched on the hillside adjacent to the cemetery.

Alecto came to a halt and flicked her staff forward. In a flash of azure light, he was abruptly launched forward in a semicircular arc, crashing against a tall marble headstone. He let loose another muted scream and the witch smirked – she had purposefully struck him across the gravestone on his left side, where his arm still throbbed with pain.

In the moonlight, Harry could make out the name on the stone: Tom Riddle. Harry had no idea who that was supposed to be. Harry just lay there, breathing heavily through his nose. Alecto gestured with her hand and Harry was forced upright into a standing position, braced against the headstone.

"Wormtail," she called out into the darkness. "Wormtail, the boy's here!"

A cloaked figure walked out behind a pair of gravestones on the right, a hood covering its face. He was shorter even than Alecto. Harry could see it carrying something – another bone-white staff in one hand and what looked like a rumpled bundle of robes in the other, held by his crooked arm. It stopped just before Harry, looking down upon him.

And then, without warning, Harry's scar burst open with pain. It was agony unlike anything he had felt in his life – the aching in his wrists and the throbbing in his arm seemed like a distant memory now. He collapsed to his knees, his strength leaving him. He couldn't even summon up the energy to scream and he felt as though his head was about to explode. It stopped abruptly, leaving Harry to rapidly inhale through his nose and tasted bile on his tongue.

 _Just what the hell was that_? Harry thought, terrified. He had never felt so much pain before and it would be too soon if he never experienced it again in his life. The cloaked man had just finished tying Harry to the headstone with some ropes from neck to ankles, having laid the robed bundle at the foot of the grave. Harry tried twisting his shoulders and his hips, but it was no good – the ropes were taut. He was stuck bound upright against the marble gravestone. At least Alecto wasn't holding him down with that horrible binding spell anymore.

The cloaked figure stood and drew back his hood, revealing a rather odd man. He was balding with stringy colorless hair, various strands wildly strewn about. He had small watery eyes with a pointed nose. His face was scrunched up and the whole impression he gave was that of a…

 _Rat_ , Harry realized with incredulity. He had seen this man before. In fact, he would bet that he had even seen Amycus and Alecto before. He remembered flashes of the rat-faced man and the robed figures with skull-shaped masks in his dreams, except now he couldn't rightly consider them mere dreams anymore. Were they visions? Could he somehow tell the future with his dreams?

"Are you sure it's him?" the rat-faced man said in a squeaking voice. "It's definitely Potter?"

"No mistake about it, Wormtail," Alecto replied flatly. "Get the cauldron."

He began to walk behind the headstone Harry was strapped to before he hesitated. "Where's Amycus?"

"Not now."

"But –"

" _Not now_." Alecto all but snarled and Wormtail flinched, before turning and scurrying away.

Harry watched the bundle on the ground, just before his feet. It moved slightly, stirring as if fretful and anxious. Harry tried to get a better look at it. Whatever was under the bundle kept writhing and squirming, as if trying to get free of the robes.

 _Did they bring a baby into this? What kind of sick —_

All thought was drowned out as his scar seared with pain again, rocking Harry back. It passed quickly, but it left his forehead throbbing dully. Suddenly, Harry didn't to see what was inside those robes – he didn't want to see the bundle uncovered. Then, there was an odd slithering sound behind the gravestone.

" _Warm… I smells it… Master has brought food?"_

Something brushed against Harry's legs and Harry's shout of surprise was strangled behind the gag when a massive green snake came up to Harry's face. It had gently wrapped its body around Harry's torso, rising upwards, and he shuddered as he felt it slither against his chest. It was the same talking snake from his dreams.

It stared at him with horrible wide eyes, its yellow slits moving to and fro as it examined Harry's figure. It opened its gaping maw, wide enough to swallow Harry whole, revealing a set of large white fangs. A long, forked tongue licked and lapped against Harry's chin, undulating and writhing. He felt as though his heart might burst out of his chest out of fright. Was he about to become this snake's dinner?

Alecto merely watched the spectacle, looking extremely amused at Harry's plight. Then, a cold, high voice rang out from seemingly nowhere.

" _No, Nagini… Not food... You will be sated… later…"_

The gigantic snake gave another experimental lick against Harry's chin. It continued to peer at him before it hissed out, " _Tasty… Boy comes later… yes? Mayhaps… we eats food… together? Could be… fun…"_

The snake briefly closed and reopened one of its enormous eyes before it slipped away behind the headstone, slowly unwrapping itself from Harry's chest as the tip of its tail lightly flicked against Harry's nose. The cold, high voice sounded again, this time in what sounded like mocking laughter.

Harry just stared at the ground for a few more seconds before his brain caught up with him. It had winked at him. The bloody _snake_ of all things had made a joke at his expense and _winked_ at him.

 _I just got punked by a snake_ , Harry thought dimly. _What next?_

Harry heard an odd scraping sound growing louder and louder, as if something large and heavy was being pushed across the ground. Wormtail soon walked back into Harry's view, his staff outstretched and his face scrunched up in concentration. A large stone cauldron was being slowly dragged behind him, sloshing with what looked like water. It looked more like a compact bathtub than a cauldron – an adult could easily sit inside of it. Wormtail finally placed the cauldron by the foot of the grave, just beside the bundle on the ground.

Alecto looked at the sky for a few moments. "It's time, Wormtail – it's nearly midnight. Light the cauldron."

Wormtail placed his staff beneath the bottom of the cauldron and began to murmur something. After a few moments, fire sizzled to life beneath the cauldron, flames licking up at the sides. The liquid in the cauldron began to immediately bubble and orange sparks flared as though the surface was on fire.

The bundle at Harry's feet began to stir more violently, as if trying to shake free of the robes. The cold, high voice called out again.

" _Hurry!_ "

Steam bloomed, obscuring Wormtail's figure as he continued to murmur nonsensical phrases beneath his breath and the entire surface of the liquid was ablaze with silver light. Wormtail finally stopped incanting.

"It is ready, Master."

" _Alecto…_ " said the cold voice.

"My Lord," Alecto said with a reverent tone, as she knelt down and pulled open the robes.

Harry shouted at the sight, his voice muffled by the gag blocking his mouth. His scar began to throb painfully again, now a dull and pulsating ache rather than the skull-splitting pain he had felt before.

 _It_ was small and covered in what looked like slime. From a distance, it might have passed as a little child but no human child looked anything like this. Its naked form was hairless and covered in raw red-black scales. Its limbs were thin and frail-looking and its face was flat and snakelike, with smoldering scarlet eyes.

Harry's heart thudded and pounded against his chest. _What in the hell is that?_

The… _thing_ looked seemingly helpless as it wrapped its brittle arms around Alecto's neck. Smears of red-black ooze stained her face and neck, but she showed no sign of disgust – she simply stared at the creature with her face alight in what seemed akin to bliss.

"You honor me, my Lord," Alecto murmured, as she carried the monstrosity to the cauldron's edge.

The thing's mouth moved in a horrendous mockery of speech, jaws rippling horribly. It spoke in a cold, high tone. " _Rejoice, Alecto, as you aid and witness the return of Lord Voldemort…"_

"My Lord," Alecto repeated worshipfully and she lowered the thing into the cauldron. There was a sharp hissing noise and steam briefly flared, throwing up Alecto's hair. The creature vanished below the gleaming surface of the liquid, its frail body landing against the cauldron's bottom with a gentle thud.

His scar began to burn even more painfully now, the dull throbbing beginning to edge over into a hot knife of agony. _Drown_ , Harry thought desperately. _Please – let it drown and die…_

Alecto recovered herself, her face smoothing out into a blank expression. "Wormtail."

Wormtail raised his empty hands, his entire body taut with tension. He closed his eyes and in a quavering voice, he spoke into the night.

" _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!_ "

Harry felt a thrum of power beneath his feet, the marble gravestone softly vibrating. Then, Harry felt a surge of energy brush up against him. It felt cold and _wrong_ – like ice against his lungs and it made Harry want to throw up.

A long, thin crack opened up on the surface of the grave and a fine mist of white dust rose into the air, twisting and writhing in a spiraling rope. The stream then plunged into the cauldron, diving past the shimmering surface of the water. The surface hissed and crackled, sending up a silver-white flare of power. The mixture then instantly turned into a bright, venomous blue.

Wormtail whimpered at the sight. His hands were shaking badly as they withdrew into the folds of his robes. He pulled out a long silver dagger than gleamed by the cauldron's light. He broke into terrified sobbing, as he extended his right hand over the top of the cauldron. Harry faintly noted that it was missing its index finger.

" _Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master!_ "

Harry understood with a horrifying realization just what Wormtail was about to do. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the sight and watched with revulsion as Wormtail swung the dagger upwards with his left hand. It sheared through his right hand with ease, separating flesh, sinew, and bone in a single clean cut.

Wormtail shrieked in agony, his high-pitched voice so loud that Harry felt the pressure against his eardrums. The dismembered hand dropped into the cauldron, breaking the water's surface with a sickening splash. A wash of power rushed out from the cauldron, ruffling Harry's hair even as brilliant red light blazed. The entire top of the liquid was now a deep, smoldering red that hurt Harry's eyes if he looked directly at it.

Wormtail was still gasping in sobbing breaths, the stump of his right hand pressed into the folds of his robes, staining them with dripping blood. He began staggered over towards Harry, drawing in long, ragged breaths as he raised the silver dagger.

" _B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe!_ "

Harry panicked and tried to struggle against the bindings to no avail. They were too tight and he could scarcely move. He tried to draw in his will again, but only let loose a muffled cry of pain as he felt the freezing thorns pierce into his wrists. He tried to ignore the pain, trying to seek out and grasp even the barest fraction of magic, but he felt nothing.

The pain was reaching a fever-pitch now and Harry thought that his hands were about to fall off as well. He tried to draw in power for a third time, the agony running up his wrists and into his forearms, but it was like trying to recover water directly from desert air. Whatever these manacles were made of, they stopped his ability to use magic cold.

Harry braced himself, closing his eyes and waiting for the burning edge of the knife to catch him across the throat, but it never came. Instead, he felt a small line of pain up along his left arm, tearing into his shirt. Harry opened his eyes as Wormtail, still wheezing with pain, fumbled with a small glass vial. He held it against a small cut along his left upper arm, blood dribbling into the container.

He lurched unsteadily back to the cauldron, gingerly holding onto the vial. He immediately poured the blood inside. The red surface of the liquid instantly turned into a blinding white, searing Harry's vision. Wormtail, his task complete, fell to his knees before slumping sideways onto the ground, cradling his bleeding stump as he gasped and sobbed in pain. Alecto had similarly fallen to her knees, prostrate before the cauldron.

Harry felt the power in the air growing and growing. His hair began to stand on end, as if he was caught in a field of static electricity. It was deep, raw, and _wrong_ – he felt like running away screaming from the sheer vileness of it. The power continued to build, even as the cauldron grew brighter and brighter until it was as though the sun itself had descended to the graveyard. Harry closed his eyes, the bright light still shining through his eyelids.

The power beat against his skin, rising and rising seemingly without limit. And then, suddenly, everything ceased. The light died away to nothing and the thrumming power in the air disappeared as if it had never been present. Harry opened his eyes to see billowing steam surged upwards, obscuring Alecto and Wormtail.

 _Let it have drowned_ , Harry hoped and pleaded. _It's gone wrong… it's drowned… please… please let it be dead…_

Then, Harry saw twin pinpricks of scarlet light in the mist, boring into him. He averted his gaze, not wanting to look at those horrible lights. The mist began to clear and Harry saw, with an icy surge of terror, the silhouette of a man, tall and skeletally thin, as he slowly rose from inside the cauldron.

The mist dissipated enough that he could see Alecto and Wormtail again. Wormtail was still slumped over on the ground, sobbing and moaning, and Alecto still lay prostrate before the cauldron.

"My Lord… my Lord!" she kept whispering reverently over and over.

"Alecto," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam. "Robe me."

She rose and dashed over to pick up the bundled robes from the ground. She slowly pulled them over the figure's head, continuing to murmur, "My Lord, my Lord!" under her breath.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at its hands and experimentally flexing his fingers. He looked up at Harry and Harry saw the face of a nightmare. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was as flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils…

The Dark Lord had risen.

 **A/N:** As you can obviously tell, Ch. 3 is largely adapted from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ , Ch. 32. The description of Wormtail is a paraphrase of the description in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban,_ Ch. 19


	4. FOUR

FOUR

THE DARK LORD looked away from Harry and continued to inspect his body. He ran long, pale fingers over his chest, his arms, and settled on feeling out the contours of his face. He smiled broadly, his expression rapt and exultant.

He took no notice of Alecto, who knelt before him, her head bowed and both hands on her staff. He ignored Wormtail, who still lay slumped and sobbing as he cradled the stump from where he had severed his own hand. Harry twitched as he saw the gigantic green snake once again slithering around the headstone he was tied to, hissing every so often.

The Dark Lord then slipped one of his hands into a pocket and withdrew a wand, at least over a foot long. He stroked a long arc in the air and a wave of green and black sparks emitted from the end. They vanished before they struck the ground and the Dark Lord chuckled to himself, looking supremely satisfied.

"Rise, Alecto, Wormtail," he said lazily in that cold, high tone.

Without hesitation, Alecto rose to her feet, planting her staff firmly upon the ground. Wormtail continued to cry, making no move to stand up.

" _Rise_ , Wormtail." There was a hint of a terrible threat in the Dark Lord's voice and Wormtail stiffened at that.

Wormtail shakily got up, even as he kept his bloodied arm against the fold of his robes. He looked as though he would fall over at any moment if not for the staff he braced himself with. He continued to cry in great gasping breaths, his face streaked with tears.

"My Lord..." he choked, "my Lord... you promised... you did promise..."

"I suppose I did," mused the Dark Lord, stroking his chin. "I did promise to reward those faithful to me. Yet, you returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear – fear of being discovered, fear of the Wardens, fear of their judgment. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," moaned Wormtail, "please, Master... please..."

"Yet you helped me return me to my body," said the Dark Lord coolly, his lips upturned in disgust at Wormtail. "Worthless and traitorous that you are, you helped me... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers... Hold out your arm, Wormtail."

Wormtail hesitantly took out his severed arm, blood dripping from his robes, and held out the stump. The Dark Lord raised his wand and whirled it through the air. Globules of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. The globes of liquid silver coalesced into a larger, writhing mass that suddenly inverted and shaped itself into what looked like a human hand. It streaked downward and affixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist.

Wormtail's wailing abruptly ceased. Still drawing ragged breaths, he raised his new hand up to the moonlight and stared at it in disbelief. It was attached seamlessly to his wrist, as though he were merely wearing a dazzling glove. Wormtail flexed his fingers before closing and opening his hand, each motion as smooth and natural as if from a real hand. Trembling, he picked up a small twig from the ground and crushed it with his new hand.

Harry stared in shock. While Harry's magical education was a haphazard work in progress, he was fairly sure that what just happened bordered on impossible. At the very least, it should have been insanely difficult. Not only had the Dark Lord literally conjured lasting solid material out of nothing that he reshaped into a hand, but the hand actually attached to Wormtail's arm and appeared to _work_. That alone would have required an enormous amount of knowledge regarding human musculature and nerve physiology. The complexity and power requirements must have been absurd. Yet the Dark Lord had done all that with seemingly less effort than Harry took to light the candles in his basement.

Harry had a sinking feeling that he was far, _far_ out of his depth here. He wanted to this all just to be some nightmarish delusion, but Harry knew he would not be so lucky. His arms still ached from being bound behind his back for so long and he could still feel the sharp thorns of the cuffs pressing against his wrists. He could only endure and watch the spectacle.

"My Lord," Wormtail whispered. "Master... it is beautiful... thank you... _thank you_..."

He knelt down the kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said the Dark Lord.

"No, my Lord... never, my Lord..." Wormtail rose and stood by Alecto's side, wiping away his tears with the fold of his robes and grasping his staff in his new silver hand. The snake stopped circling around the headstone and slithered over to the Dark Lord's side.

"Will you call for... the _others_ , my Lord?" Alecto spoke up after a pause.

"No, not now," replied the Dark Lord, his pale hands caressing the snake's head. "No doubt the magic wrought here will have caught the attention of the Wardens. Though they pose no challenge to me, I would not sacrifice subtlety as it continues to be in our favor. No... I will summon the others later tonight."

"Should we move to the alternate location now then, my Lord?" Wormtail looked back and forth fearfully, as if someone would come at any moment.

The Dark Lord chuckled, beginning to pace before the front of the grave. "No, no, there is still quite some time left yet. We must attend first to our _young friend_ here." The Dark Lord turned to face Harry, his crimson eyes glittering with amusement. "I am glad that you have decided to join us for my rebirthing party, Harry Potter. I trust Alecto and Amycus were good hosts?"

Alecto flinched almost imperceptibly, but the Dark Lord caught it. He frowned. "Tell me, Alecto... where _is_ Amycus?"

"He..." Alecto hesitated, before continuing, her hateful eyes fixed upon Harry's face, "He was killed by Potter, my Lord. We didn't think the boy would be as strong as he was."

The Dark Lord's eyes widened at that revelation. His voice grew low and dangerous. "And _how_ did that come to pass, Alecto? Tell me everything that occurred and remember well how I treat deceit in my presence."

Alecto cringed at that before she shakily related the nightmarish events that led to now. "We'd managed to catch one of his friends outside of Potter's flat – Amycus did Potter's friend in – and Potter ran inside. We followed him in and cornered him for a little bit, but he distracted us with a fire spell and escaped out of a window. Amycus got rid of the fire and we followed the Potter boy out and trapped him behind a car. He clipped Amycus with a spell and knocked him down before he started running. I went after him but he tricked me and then started hitting me with these red blasts of energy that I could barely shield. He was about to finish me when Amycus came back under a veil. He held down Potter but Potter was able to get out of his grip and then..."

Alecto sobbed before drawing a shuddering breath. "And then Potter got him with a spell – snapped his neck. That's when I caught Potter with a binding. I brought him here after that."

The Dark Lord slowly strode towards Alecto, red eyes burning with fury. "You were given precise instructions on how to capture the boy and I see that you and your brother had disregarded more than half of them. You went through his threshold? You substituted guile for recklessness? You fought him _on his own ground_ where he had the advantage? The two of you were unable to outthink a mere sixteen year old _child_?"

Alecto trembled violently before she flung herself at the Dark Lord's feet. "My Lord, please forgive me! We've failed you, my Lord, forgive me!"

The Dark Lord snarled and raised his wand, black energy gathering at its tip. Alecto recoiled, closing her eyes and awaiting whatever terrible spell the Dark Lord was about to unleash. Wormtail stepped away from Alecto, as if being near her would mean he would share her fate. The huge snake reared, hissing horribly at Alecto and glaring at her with its enormous eyes. Harry waited with bated breath to see what happened next – for several long moments, the only sounds were Alecto's shivering and weeping.

The Dark Lord finally lowered his wand. "No, Alecto, you will not be disciplined tonight. For as much as you and Amycus have failed to heed my instructions, you still managed to retrieve Harry Potter. Amycus's demise was the consequence of his own failure and the loss of your brother shall serve as sufficient punishment for you. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is without mercy."

Alecto sobbed in relief. "Thank you, my Lord! Thank you... thank you!"

The Dark Lord raised his head, before he spoke imperiously, "Rise again, Alecto. Remember my mercy – but keep to mind my wrath should you fail me once more."

Alecto got back to her feet, taking her place by Wormtail's side. The Dark Lord then turned to face Harry, looking at Harry curiously.

"And yet," the Dark Lord murmured, "It seems that I was not remiss in claiming you as my enemy, Harry Potter. To have overcome and nearly defeated two of my faithful... as a mere child of sixteen with only scraps of the Art to subsist on... truly impressive. Wormtail, ungag him. I would speak with him before the end. He is after all our guest of honor."

Harry felt a chill in his heart at the Dark Lord's last comment. The Dark Lord was going to kill him soon – and bound both physically and magically as he was, there was nothing Harry could do about it. Wormtail walked forward and Harry recoiled as his new and unnatural silver hand grasped the gag binding Harry's mouth and tore it free. Harry took a few deep, gasping breaths before spitting out drool – he had been gagged for some time.

For a few moments, no one spoke.

 _If I'm going to die, I'm going to at least find out_ why.

"What..." Harry rasped, "what do you want with me? What in the bloody hell did I ever do to you? Just who... no, _what_ are you?"

"Now that is a rather complicated matter, Potter... with an even more complex suite of solutions." The Dark Lord began to pace again before the foot of the grave. "Who am I? What am I? There are a great deal many answers to those questions, Harry Potter, and the vast majority of them lie outside of your comprehension. Still, I suppose the beginning may have the materials of an answer."

The Dark Lord gestured towards the gravestone. "You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. He didn't have magic. You see that house on the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was... He didn't like magic, my father..."

He continued to pace, his eyes looking from grave to grave. "He left her and returned to his parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me... but I vowed to find him... I revenged myself upon him, the fool... and so I took the first steps to becoming Lord Voldemort. A nobler Name, a _greater_ Name than the one I was originally given."

The Dark Lord spread his arms wide. "But what _is_ Lord Voldemort, Potter? What is it that I stand for? I tell you now: knowledge, truth, _power_. For if there is one sentence to capture my philosophy, my _being_ , it is simply this: there is no good and evil; there is only power – and those too weak to seek it out." The Dark Lord turned back to face Harry and inclined his head, waiting expectantly. He must have wanted Harry to reply.

"Nice monologue," Harry croaked. "You've got the whole Evil Overlord bit down pat. Are we at the part yet where you tell me to join you or die?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Nothing quite like that, young Potter. Rest assured that you _will_ die tonight – by my own hand no less. Still, as you are the one I have claimed as my enemy, I feel... a certain degree of obligation to educate you on the depth of your sins before your passing. You made a very grave error in crossing Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter... just like your mother..."

Harry jerked in surprise. "You knew my mother?"

The Dark Lord laughed in a high, horrible pitch. "You no longer remember your mother, Harry Potter? I do not think she would have liked that. After all, both of our parents had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself in death..."

"You killed my mother?" Harry swallowed. "My father?"

"Of course, Potter – I slew the both of them. Your parents were supposed to be rather competent Wizards, Potter, but they fell before my might easily enough..." Voldemort paused, before smiling cruelly at Harry. "No... no... there is no need to tell you, when I can simply _show_ you..."

He raised the wand to bear upon Harry. Harry gasped.

"No, wait!"

" _Legilimens!_ "

Harry's scar burst open with pain and he let loose a long, ragged scream. He felt a pressure within his skull, as if someone were trying to tear open a hole in his mind. The pain was worse than it had been before – at any moment his head would burst open and Harry wished it would happen faster, so that he could die, so that this could end. Soon Harry lost all sensation in his body except for the pain – he had no hands, no feet, no eyes, there was only the terrible pain, ripped from his body. He must have died. But, if he no longer had a body, why did everything hurt so badly and if he was dead, why did the pain continue? He had no mouth and yet he was still screaming with pain.

He was... he was...

 _He was walking across the square, his robes billowing behind him. The night was wet and windy and two children dressed as pumpkins were waddling across the square. The shop windows were covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry, common trappings of a world in which they did not believe... And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions... Not anger... that was for weaker souls than he... but triumph, yes... He had waited for this, he had hoped for it..._

" _Nice costume, mister!"_

 _He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his pained face. Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary..._

 _And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the wards broken, though they did not know it yet... And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and steered over it..._

 _They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his staff for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist..._

 _A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his staff down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning..._

 _The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but the father did not hear. He felt distaste for what he would do next – but still he ran the wand up across his face, felt the mask settle..._

 _The father answered the door after he knocked. "Peter? I didn't think you'd be here tonight. Harry will be happy to see you again! Come in, come in..."_

 _He strode in, the wand gripped tightly between his fingers. He smiled at the man... the fool, trusting in his friends... The man looked at him, his eyes widening, realizing the inconsistencies, the deceit... but too late, far too late..._

 _His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and dispelled the illusion. It would be_ his _face that they would see last... It was easy, too easy, the man had not even brought his staff or sword..._

 _"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

 _Hold him off, without a weapon in his hand! He laughed before casting the curse..._

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

 _The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glow like lighting rods, and the man fell like a marionette whose strings were cut..._

 _He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear... He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in... She had no weapon upon her either... How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments..._

 _He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand... and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead..._

 _"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

 _"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now."_

 _"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"_

 _"This is my last warning."_

 _"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, I'll do anything..."_

 _"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

 _He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all..._

 _The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing..._

 _He pointed the wand very carefully at the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry. It had seen that he was not the child's father. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage._

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

 _And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here amidst the blackened remains of the ruined house, where the child was trapped screaming, but far away... far away..._

Away... away... he was nothing... he was... he was...

He was still screaming with pain. He could feel his limbs again, the throbbing ache along his left arm, the piercing pain across his wrists, and the ever-present agony on his forehead. He wasn't at the house anymore... where was the boy? What happened to the boy?

The screams died, but a dull pain remained. He blinked away the tears, his vision clearing. He was at a graveyard by the looks of it. The snakefaced man was on his knees, his bone-white fingers clutching his skull as he moaned. Two others in black robes stood by the man, looking shocked and confused.

What was going on? How? How could he be looking upon _himself_? He watched confused for a moment, before understanding set.

 _I'm..._ me. _That's right... I'm Harry. Not_ him _, but Harry..._

Harry had a terrible headache right now. It was a kind of muted pain, as if there was some great weight pressing against his skull. Thankfully, it wasn't nearly as bad as the agony he had felt earlier.

"My Lord?" The woman, Alecto, stooped down, making to take the Dark Lord's hand. Voldemort hissed and batted aside her hand, before roughly getting back on his feet. He simply breathed heavily for a few moments, studying Harry.

"What did you do to me, Potter? Who taught you mental defense?"

"I don't know what you're on about," Harry said tiredly. He was still trying to mentally recover from whatever the hell... _that_ was.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "Odd... you're not lying... Curious... very curious..."

"That was..." Harry said, wincing. Even thinking about the experience hurt right now. "Those were... my parents?

"Obviously, Potter. Just what do you think I was trying to _show_ you?"

Harry felt unbidden tears gather at the edges of his eyes. All these years... all these Halloweens... he had dreamt of his mother's _murder_? That the only thing he had to remember her by were her last moments as she begged Voldemort to kill her instead of her son.

He had never actually missed his parents – you can't miss what you never had – but he had always wanted someone to have cared for him, like those two in the vision clearly had. It was an old pain, a pain he had thought he had gotten over but clearly hadn't.

Harry tried to will away his tears, but without success. "You killed... my _family_? Why? What... did we ever do to someone like _you_?"

Voldemort sneered. "Their lives were mine to deal with as I pleased, Harry Potter. They both defied me, you see... and those that stand against Lord Voldemort are not long for this world... They would have faced my judgment sooner or later."

The Dark Lord returned to pacing again. "They called you and your parents my downfall, did you know that, Potter? That even now, the name of 'Potter' is on the lips of the Council... Your family became martyrs for those old fools..."

Harry had no idea what the "Council" was, but there were more pressing questions in his mind right now. "But, I... you... you _didn't_ kill me that night. My parents died... but you didn't kill me with that spell."

" _No_. No, I did not kill you that night," Voldemort hissed and there was a flash of terrible rage in his eyes. Harry inadvertently swallowed. "No, Potter, you did _not_ die on the night that I lost my powers and my body. Your mother died in the attempt to save you... and unwittingly provided you with a protection I admit I had not foreseen... In choosing, she left in you traces of her sacrifice... This is old magic, the power of a willing sacrifice; I should have remembered it. I admit I was foolish to overlook it where other death curses held no purchase over me..."

Voldemort seemed wrapped up in his tale now, his eyes distant. "I miscalculated – my curse was deflected by your mother's sacrifice and it rebounded upon myself... aah... there was pain beyond pain; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than the meanest ghost... but still I was alive... what I was even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. My goal had always been to conquer Death and I had been tested – one or more of my experiments must have worked for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Still, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive and without the means to help myself... for I had no body and nearly all of my will was devoted to keeping myself from drifting apart."

Harry didn't say anything. He could only continue to listen to this story which sounded too incredible to be true... but unfortunately, it was true. The story of the Dark Lord's fall – and his parents' deaths.

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... . Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain... they had been scattered to the winds, evading the Wardens and their swords..."

The Dark Lord sighed. "Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Wardens were still abroad and searching for me... they had learned after Kemmler of course... but they gave up soon enough. I sometimes inhabited animals – snakes, of course, being my preference – but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic... and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long..."

"It was just shy of two years ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last... a servant returned to me. Three servants no less. Wormtail was tired of running and hiding, Potter – he evaded Warden and Death Eater alike. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them. But, Alecto and her late brother had found Wormtail before he made it to my side... they were quite surprised to see that he still lived. They were... less than pleased that he had not sought out the others... very displeased indeed..."

Wormtail flinched. The Dark Lord ignored him and continued his tale.

"We could have summoned more of my followers of course, but I was still weak and dared not risk catching the Council's eye. Nor could I afford yet to occupy a human form. I was able nonetheless to return to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth... I was returned to an almost human form, and well enough to travel. I would soon be able to regain my full strength."

"I knew what I needed to achieve this. It is an old piece of black magic, the ritual that revived me tonight, and it required three powerful components. Well, one of them was already at _hand_ , was it not, Wormtail?" Voldemort chuckled and Wormtail shakily laughed with him. Alecto remained silent, continuing to watch Harry carefully. "My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe... you and your brother would have had me use any Wizard, would you not, Alecto? Any Wizard who had hated me... as many of them still do."

"My Lord..." Alecto began.

Voldemort dismissively waved his hand. "No matter – the three of you still thought Harry Potter dead, as did the rest of the world. But I knew differently of course. I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter's blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power... who more fitting to be my foe than the one who had toppled me for a time?"

"But how to get at Harry Potter? You were long thought dead, Potter, having died with your foolish parents. None on the Council had bothered to look for you – and we were already a decade behind the game. It was difficult, I admit... combing through the most miniscule of leads for them to end up nowhere at all... but it was by pure happenstance that we found you, Potter, hidden in plain sight. Amycus did something rather foolish you see... he showed his face at a pub you are rather familiar with of course – the Leaky Cauldron."

At this Harry turned to gaze at Alecto incredulously. " _What_? When did that happen? I don't ever remember seeing him."

Alecto snorted. "Over a year ago, Potter. You didn't see him – he left as soon as he saw your face. We were as surprised as you are right now. Of all the places to find you…"

The Dark Lord chuckled. "We soon learned all we could of Harry _Green_. I was quite amused that you had originally been at Wool's Orphanage – that was an irony I did not expect. You were there until after your tenth birthday, Potter, but we never found out why you left..."

Harry licked his lips, unsure if he should indulge the Dark Lord.

 _Bugger it_.

"I... set the curtains on fire. It was my first, actual spell but I wasn't being very careful – or discreet. The matron thought I was a devil worshipper or something like that and threw me out."

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed, high and loud. "Ah, Potter... were I not so determined to finish what I began fifteen years ago I might actually have let you live for that… Still, we learned all we could of you, Potter. Where you lived, which places you visited, your schedule, your group of _friends_... it would have been a year ago when we would have taken you for my resurrection, Potter, if not for certain... complications..."

The Dark Lord made a distasteful face, as if remembering something unpleasant. He continued, "We were forced to delay our plans for another year as we still kept an eye on you, Potter. I had already waited for so long... I could afford to wait another year."

Voldemort stopped pacing then. He faced Harry, studying the scar on his forehead – shaped like a carved bolt of lightning.

"They thought us both dead, Potter," Voldemort murmured. "I, the greatest Dark Lord there had ever been, laid low by the sacrifice of you and your family. But, we both know that is untrue of course. I survived through my own arduous preparation and studies. But, you, Harry Potter? You survived the spell I had perfected above all others, that which slays without exception. But, you didn't die... your mother was clever I admit, very clever... You became that which so many were not... you became the _boy who lived_."

The Dark Lord abruptly raised his wand. "But no longer. _Crucio!_ "

A jet of black energy struck Harry without warning and he was suddenly filled with excruciating pain. It was agony unlike anything else. Where the pain from before had been limited to his forehead, he felt every nerve lit aflame with pain. He no longer knew where he was – white-hot knives pierced every portion of his body and he was screaming more loudly than he had ever screamed before.

It stopped suddenly and Harry was left gasping for breath. He hung limply without any strength in his limbs. He looked groggily up to see the Dark Lord, his form blurred by his fresh tears.

"You see how foolish it was for you and your parents to have ever defied me, Harry Potter? There will be no mistake in your mind or mine. You lived by pure chance, the barest silver of a hope. I am going to demonstrate to you my power by killing you, here and now, where there is no one else to die for you."

A wave of Voldemort's wand instantly unbound the cords holding Harry in place and he collapsed on his side, his hands still cuffed by those thorn manacles. The Dark Lord loomed over Harry now like a giant shadow.

"Still, you will be allowed to fight. There will be no doubt as to my strength and you will receive judgment for your crime. We will duel, Potter, and you will die, just as your parents had."

The Dark Lord inclined his head and gestured towards Wormtail.

"Unbind him, Wormtail, so that Harry Potter may face me one final time."

 **A/N: Ach, lots of exposition this chapter as Voldemort monologues, but mostly stuff you guys probably expected. Again, as you can tell, several portions of this chapter are adapted from** _ **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,**_ **Ch. 33 as well as a small portion from Ch. 34 when describing the** _ **Cruciatus.**_ **In addition, the flashback sequence is almost verbatim the same passage from** _ **Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows**_ **, Ch. 17. New territory will be explored soon within the next chapter or two.**


	5. FIVE

FIVE

WORMTAIL WALKED slowly towards Harry. He watched each step of Wormtail's boots, marking off another moment before Harry would have to fight or die. Harry still found the revelations of tonight difficult to believe – in just three hours, his life had changed dramatically.

If someone told him earlier today that he'd fight two practitioners who murdered his flatmate, kill one of them and get kidnapped by the other, then get dragged into the middle of a graveyard, witness and help in some black magic ritual to resurrect the same sorcerer that killed both of his parents fifteen years ago, and finally duel him to the death – Harry would have laughed and walked away.

 _Somehow I don't feel like laughing right now_.

Wormtail's new silver hand gripped Harry roughly by his collar, jerking him back to his feet. He then spun Harry around to his side – his _right_ side thankfully – and slammed him against the headstone. Harry said nothing in protest because he was unable to. There was a brief flash of azure light and Harry stiffened, not out of his own volition. Alecto stood off to Harry's right, her hand held out and her face worked up in concentration. He was stuck in another binding and couldn't even shrug his shoulders or work his mouth.

Behind him, he heard Wormtail fumbling for something inside his robes. Something pressed against the cuffs binding Harry and there was a soft _click_ as the manacles opened. The sensation of icy thorns left Harry's wrist and he breathed deeply in relief as he could feel the flow of magic once more. He still couldn't move however, until Alecto released the binding spell.

Wormtail took the manacles without a word and hurriedly scurried back to the Dark Lord's side. The pressure suddenly abated and Harry sagged and he stumbled forward several paces, no longer held by Alecto's spell. Harry wondered if he could make a run for it, but he saw Alecto watching him attentively, her staff coated in blue-black energy. Voldemort simply smiled widely, as if daring Harry to try to escape. Harry's heart sank and he knew that he couldn't avoid this fight.

"Need a moment, Potter?" The Dark Lord said mockingly.

Harry felt his heart thudding madly against his chest, each passing second leading him closer and closer to his impending execution. "Just give me a second," Harry rasped.

 _Okay, Harry, time to see how banged up tonight's left you_.

His wrists were a mess of ugly blue-black bruises. He absently rubbed them, which were raw and sore from being cuffed for so long and they felt chill to the touch. Sometime between knocking him out and bringing him to the graveyard, Alecto must have bandaged his left forearm and taken out the glass. Dark splotches of dried blood stained the dressings and it still felt tender to touch.

His legs felt stiff from being bound for so long, his ribs ached from where Amycus had gotten him earlier, and he still felt a little dizzy from whatever Voldemort did earlier for him to witness his parents' death.

What did he really have? He didn't have his wand – Wormtail was holding on it right now. He could still cast spells without it, but it would take more energy out of him and he wouldn't be as efficient without it. He was pretty good at evocation, but how could he really compare to some Dark Lord that could kill him instantly with a couple of words and causally work incredibly complex spells that seemed to violate everything Harry knew about magic?

 _All in all,_ Harry thought grimly, _I'm well and truly buggered._

"H-How –" Harry swallowed, finding it difficult to even speak right. "How is this supposed to work?"

The Dark Lord strode away from Alecto and Wormtail, his wand held low and at his side. The snake was curled up by another gravestone, watching its master's movement with curiosity. Voldemort stopped directly opposite Harry and looked contemptuously at Harry. "Quite simply, Potter. We duel. You die." Voldemort raised his wand, black energy beginning to gather at its tip.

"Wait, wait!" Harry said, frantically waving his hands.

Voldemort sighed and lowered his wand. " _What_ now, Potter? Unlike you, I do have business to attend to later... so if you simply die and be done with it, we can all move on."

He needed to find a way to spin this to his favor – or as much it realistically could be given the circumstances. "Hold on, you... you challenged me to a duel, right?"

The Dark Lord looked at Harry as if he were especially dimwitted. " _Obviously_."

"Then… Um…" Harry licked his lips, wracking his brain for an idea, _any_ idea. What the bloody hell could he say to help out here?

"Yes, Potter?" Voldemort hissed, his patience clearing beginning to wear thin.

Harry swallowed. _Okay, okay, pretend this is just another maths review... except I'll die if I fail – ach, not helping!_

Voldemort could have instantly killed Harry after he was done with the ritual – just another job well done. But he hadn't been professional about it, it was _personal_ to him. He could have taken any practitioner's blood for his ritual. But Voldemort didn't go after any random sorcerer – he went after _Harry_ specifically. All because of some complicated magic between him, his mother, and the Dark Lord led to Harry's improbable survival and the Dark Lord's defeat.

After the ritual, he had talked to Harry rather than just killing him. He couldn't resist showing Harry up, trying to explain to him in detail just how badly outmatched he was. He had monologued like a stereotypical villain, but fictional villains didn't inspire terror the way the Dark Lord did in person. He was theatrical, he was flashy – he was _arrogant_. That was the key here.

 _Pride goeth... but how can I work on that angle? Maybe..._

"Enough, Potter," the Dark Lord spat. "You've had long enough to savor the final moments of your pathetic life. _Cru_ –"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted calmly, although given how fast his heart was beating he didn't feel nearly as calm as he tried to project.

"What _now_ , Potter?" The Dark Lord's eyes began to smolder with fury and Harry took an involuntary step back.

Hastily, Harry said, "Well, you challenged me to a _duel_ , right?"

"I believe we already established that, yes," Voldemort said in a low tone. "Are there any other self-evident observations you would like to make before you die?"

"Well, like you said, you're the greatest Dark Lord there is, right?"

The Dark Lord snorted. "Do you believe flattery is going to preserve your life, Potter?"

"Well..." Harry paused, rubbing his chin as if in thought. "I was just thinking... since you're clearly this incredibly powerful Dark Lord, I figure you'd want there to be no doubt in anybody's mind after this. No way some kid could have ever been a credible threat to you, right?"

"Yes..." Voldemort said slowly.

"Then, you shouldn't have a problem if we make this a little more interesting, right? You'd want to say that you faced Harry Potter fair and square and destroyed him no problem, right? So, this isn't just you and me fighting it out like some schoolyard scrap – our honor is on the line, isn't it?"

For a long moment, the Dark Lord remained silent. Then he finally spoke, "Just what are you suggesting?"

 _This is going to be one hell of a longshot._

Harry took a deep breath. "What if… we make this a little more official? An actual, proper duel. You and me, fire at ten paces and all that?"

The Dark Lord sneered. "How would you plan on arranging this 'proper' duel, as you call it?"

Harry spread his arms. "Well... dueling has rules right? Between challenger and challenged? You're the challenger, like you said, and I'm the challenged. And doesn't the challenged get to decide the dueling ground and weapons to be used?"

"Your education is lacking, Potter. The Accords have it that the challenged may choose the weapons, but the challenger selects the ground and time." Voldemort turned away from Harry, glancing over at Wormtail. "Nonetheless... your suggestion is not entirely without merit... Wormtail?"

"It's a trick, my Lord," Wormtail said immediately. "He's just trying to find someplace he can squirm out of."

The Dark Lord glared coldly at Wormtail. "Are you suggesting that there is any venue in which I am not his superior, Wormtail? That I am not the greater here?" There was a menacing tinge to his voice.

His eyes grew wide and he began to back away. "No, no! Of course not, my Lord, I just wasn't thinking –"

"Correct," Voldemort snarled. "You were _not_ thinking."

Wormtail cringed and immediately knelt before the Dark Lord, trembling and awaiting his Lord's judgment. Voldemort stared down at Wormtail's form for a few long moments before he snorted with disgust. "Back on your feet, Wormtail, and keep your silence unless you have something of worth to add."

Wormtail shakily rose again and Voldemort turned his attention to Harry. "What you are suggesting can be done... with some modifications from the ancient ways... It will not quite adhere to the Accords, but it is no matter... Naturally, I select here and now as the ground and time."

Harry winced, but he expected that trying to delay this to another day would have been hoping for too much. "Don't I get a second?"

Voldemort seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "Alecto will be my second. Wormtail, you will be Potter's."

"M-Master?" Wormtail stammered.

The Dark Lord gazed coolly at Wormtail. "You will be his second, Wormtail. Go to his side."

After a moment's hesitation, Wormtail shuffled over towards Harry. He stood several feet away on Harry's left and seemed to find the ground fascinating, staying silent. If nothing else, Harry supposed Wormtail could make a decent human shield if it came down to it. Alecto walked away from Voldemort, mirroring Wormtail's position.

Thankfully, Voldemort seemed to be playing along with this farce. Harry didn't know if any of this would improve his chances of survival all that much, but he would take anything at this point. He tried to ignore the sweat collecting along his brow. There was only one last bit apparently.

"And weapons? I get to choose what weapons we wield?"

Voldemort smiled indulgently. "Yes... I suppose that you do, Potter."

Harry upturned his palms. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of pistols lying about, would you?"

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes. "Nothing quite so uncouth as that. You may simply select one method of combat – will, skill, energy, or flesh."

Harry blinked. That... didn't sound anything like what he knew about dueling. Then again, the majority of his knowledge about dueling came from those Westerns that Dean seemed so fond of. "We don't use pistols or swords or anything like that?"

The Dark Lord sighed. "I would chastise you for how dangerously ignorant you are if it were not the case that you are soon set to die. No, Potter, that is simply one of the potential means of combat. Listen well, for this is the final lesson you will have in your short life. The old ways dictate that the combatants may choose to match will, skill, energy, or flesh. We may contest each other's determination in a battle of wills; we may fight each other with arms of our choosing; we may utilize magic and energy against each other; or finally, we may engage in unarmed combat."

Voldemort leered at Harry. "I would suggest the last, Potter. You would survive the longest at the very least."

Will, skill, energy, or flesh. Energy was out – no doubt about that. Harry didn't stand a ghost of a chance trying to fight Voldemort in a magical duel. That would probably end very quickly and very messily.

Skill? That was probably just as dubious. Harry doubted that the Dark Lord was the type to be toting about guns, but even if he was, the only weapon Harry had ever used was a knife and he had never gotten any good with it either. If it came down to a sword fight or something like that, Harry was more likely to hurt himself than Voldemort.

It would have to be will or flesh then. Harry grimaced as he rubbed his left arm – it still ached under the bindings and the events of the night had taken a serious physical toll on him. Voldemort looked skeletal and frail in front of him, but with the way he had looked when he advised Harry to pick flesh, Harry had a feeling that appearances were deceiving here.

No, that only left...

"Will," Harry declared. "We'll duel on wills."

The Dark Lord's face grew ugly and fierce at Harry's decision. His eyes grew hot with fury and Harry's fingers twitched, preparing to cast a shield that would probably do nothing. Finally, the Dark Lord nodded. "So be it. We duel on wills. Alecto, do we still have the Nauthiz helms?"

"Yes, my Lord," Alecto replied.

"Fetch them," Voldemort said. Alecto gave Harry a single hate-filled glare and strode away into the darkness.

Several minutes passed. Voldemort said nothing and an oppressive silence blanketed the air. After a few more minutes, Alecto returned, carrying a small bag. She laid it at the Dark Lord's feet and he retrieved two odd looking devices, that looked like medieval helmets in the distance.

Voldemort strode towards Harry, wand still at his side. He stopped just beside Harry and handed him one of the helmets, which he accepted wordlessly. Then, the Dark Lord raised his wand.

Harry's eyes widened and he began to prepare a shield spell, but Voldemort wasn't aiming at him. The ground groaned and cracked as a thin rift in the dirt opened. The grave, just inches away from Harry, creaked and with a massive crash, it collapsed onto itself, opening a large gulf in the ground and smashing apart the coffin underneath in a mess of wooden splinters. The marble headstone, now lacking support, trembled and fell into the gulf, landing with a tangible _thud_ that Harry could feel in his feet. Voldemort made a few quick rotating movements with his wand and the debris down below melted and smoothed out, leaving a neat rectangular chasm, which was nearly six feet deep and just as much across in length and width.

Harry just stared at Voldemort. "Uh, wasn't that your father's grave?"

The Dark Lord simply gave Harry a _look_. He then slashed his wand at the chasm and snarled something incomprehensible. Harry yelped as he felt a wash of heat behind him and he saw amethyst flames surge up behind him. He backed away, feeling hotter with each passing second. The fire slowly died down until a writhing mass of fire lay at the bottom of the gap, about halfway down into the pit.

Voldemort gazed at the fire, the flames reflected in his crimson eyes. He gestured at the helmet that Harry held. "Not quite mordite, I'm afraid, but this method was one of the more popular ones for several centuries before the techniques to encase mordite developed. It's said that Odin himself provided the design on these helmets in fact."

Harry found the explanation more confusing than enlightening. "What exactly am I supposed to do with it?"

Voldemort made a disgusted noise. " _Wear_ it, you fool. It acts as a physical conduit of your will, allowing you to utilize will in a way that only a god is typically able to. We will be able to match our conviction against each other and the loser will be thrown into the fire. Take your position ten paces ahead of the flames."

Without another word, the Dark Lord turned around and walked some distance away. He began to repeat the process on the other side, desecrating yet another grave. Harry studied the helmet in the meanwhile.

It was designed so that would largely serve to only cover the top of his head. There was an extension at the front that descended down to nose level, with two large holes to peer out of. The whole thing looked vaguely like something a Viking might put on, but Harry doubted real Vikings could afford to have this kind of helmet. It looked as though it was made of solid gold, with shimmering veins of argent light that traced runes all across the surface of the helm. Harry recognized a few of them as Elder Futhark, but many more were completely incomprehensible to him.

Harry took ahold of the helmet and slipped it over his head. There was an odd tingling sensation at the base of his skull when he put it on. Beyond that, he didn't feel any different. It was a little loose, but Harry wasn't in a position to complain. He looked up at Voldemort, who already had on his own helmet, standing several paces in front of a newly made pit filled with purple flame.

Inhaling deeply, Harry strode forward, holding his back straight, counting out each step one at a time.

 _Eight, nine, ten... Time to do or die, Harry_.

Harry looked up at the Dark Lord, who stood no less than fifteen feet away. Voldemort handed over his wand to Alecto, who held it gingerly, as if it might break at any moment.

"Wormtail, Alecto," Voldemort said quietly. They both moved simultaneously, moving to the sides and standing opposite of each other. All four of them now stood at the points of an invisible diamond.

"We are gathered here to settle this dispute between us," the Dark Lord began to speak. "We will test our wills against each other. The enchantments on the Nauthiz helmets will allow our will to be translated into physical force against each other. The duel ends when one of us falls into the pit and is consumed by the flames."

Harry glanced back at the pit. He really didn't want to get close to those flames, let alone get burned by them. Burning to death was probably one of the more painful ways to go, all things considered.

Voldemort kept speaking. "Our seconds will ensure that we do not wield any magic or other weapons against each other."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "How are they going to ensure that?"

The Dark Lord smiled. "Wormtail will kill you if you try to use magic."

Harry blinked. "And what if you use magic? You can't seriously expect me to believe that Alecto actually has a chance at killing _you_."

Alecto looked questioningly at the Dark Lord at that. Voldemort's smile widened further. "Then you shall simply have to trust in my word that I will not use magic in this duel."

"Right," Harry muttered. In truth, Voldemort _probably_ wouldn't use magic. If he cheated here, he would be effectively admitting that he couldn't have defeated Harry fairly – and even if no one else found out, the Dark Lord's pride couldn't allow for even that self-admission.

Or so Harry hoped. This whole mess was one giant gamble anyway.

"Extend your right arm towards your opponent," Alecto said quietly. Harry raised his arm, palm flat, and Voldemort did the same. Harry felt a silent tension suddenly wash across his entire body, like a compressed spring ready to be released.

Voldemort said nothing and neither did Harry. For better or worse, the time for words was done.

Alecto slashed down with her hand. "Begin!"

A new sensation assaulted Harry out of nowhere. It was like the vastness of the sea, deep, dark, and powerful. It pressed up against Harry's mind and sent him reeling to his knees. He looked up to see the Dark Lord with his hand outstretched, sneering down at him. He felt himself sliding across the ground, the pressure of the Dark Lord's will forcing him back towards the pit.

The Dark Lord's will was enormous. It didn't hit Harry like a sudden massive blow or a surprise knockout punch. It was a simple, overbearing force weighing down on him, as if he was slowly being crushed under a growing pile of stone.

"This is where you belong, Potter!" he shouted. "On your knees! Were you so deluded to believe that you could have ever matched wills with _me_?"

Harry gritted his teeth and pressed his will up against Voldemort's but he might as well have been trying to stop an avalanche with his bare hands. He could feel himself slipping closer and closer back towards the pit. He tried to gather his will, to push back against the Dark Lord, but he only felt that crushing weight growing heavier and heavier.

"This is what happens to those that cross Lord Voldemort, Potter," gloated the Dark Lord. He kept that tremendous power bearing down on Harry. "Your death will not even warrant a footnote in the coming annals of my reign, Harry Potter."

"Shut up," Harry spat, growing desperate. He probably wasn't too far from the gap at this point. He collected his will and kept pressing against Voldemort's, but the power of the Dark Lord's will didn't abate. He felt himself steadily growing warmer.

Slowly, inexorably, Harry felt himself pushed towards the pit. He could hear the crackling of the flames behind him now and his skin grew even warmer. The Dark Lord's expression remained triumphant. He was pushed back even further and Harry's back felt painfully hot. He could hear the roaring of the flames behind him and the ground glowed a soft purple from the ambient light of the fire.

He bowed his head, desperately keeping his right arm outstretched. Harry felt hopelessness coming over him, as the last few feet to the pit approached. _How could I ever think I stood a chance here? That I could actually match wills with someone like him_?

Voldemort began laughing as his victory drew near. "Your parents were cowards, Potter. When they knew I was after them, they tried to hide... trusting in their friends... and what a mistake that was. Your father was a fool, did you know that, Potter? He didn't even bring a weapon to face me and he died without even casting a spell."

He continued gloating, his eyes glowing with unholy crimson light. "But, your mother... oh, your mother was quite the sight, was she not, Harry Potter? As if her pathetic pleading could have swayed me... she died easily enough, though... And now her failure will be complete. Fall and join your craven parents in death, Potter!"

As the Dark Lord spoke, Harry's despair began to die away. The vision he had seen earlier began to replay in his head – his father telling his mother to run as he faced down Voldemort and his mother standing before him, protecting him with her very life. He felt a burning fire in his gut growing and his breathing became harsh and ragged. He ground his teeth and clenched his left fist so hard that blood began to trickle down onto the ground.

He no longer felt hopeless. It was scourged by the blazing flames inside him, that only grew and grew.

He was _furious_. He wasn't going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet. He refused to die without a fight. If he was going to die, he would die like his parents had – upright and on their own two feet. The Dark Lord called his parents cowards? He called them pathetic? He would show the Dark Lord the worth of the son they died to defend.

Harry growled as he grunted with effort, feeling his will harden and congeal. He felt the fire in his gut growing hotter and hotter until it began to blaze even with a scorching heat that surpassed the physical flames behind him. He thought as though he might start exhaling flames at any moment with how his fury only grew and grew.

"My... parents..." Harry began in a low tone, "were not... COWARDS!"

Harry let loose a massive roar and thrust outward with his arm. The oceanic wave of the Dark Lord's will rippled and suddenly _parted_. The Dark Lord shouted as he skidded backwards, bent over but still on his feet.

"How... what are you doing, Potter!" The Dark Lord snarled as he was forced halfway to the pit behind him. He was still hunched over, reeling from the force of Harry's determination.

"I'm... showing you... just what my parents died for," Harry said, gasping as he continued to exert his will upon the Dark Lord. He was still on his knees, but he felt the pressure upon growing easier and easier to bear with each passing moment. He scuttled forward a few feet, each movement feeling as though he was crawling across broken glass.

Voldemort wordlessly snarled and Harry felt another assault of will wash over him, halting his progress. He strained against it, feeling the power like the crashing waves of the ocean. He endured, remaining on his knees though he did not slide back any further.

"How are you still resisting me?" Voldemort said, beginning to breathe heavily with effort.

Harry ignored him and continued to press his will against the Dark Lord's. Slowly, moment by moment, he could feel gaps in the Dark Lord's armor, places where he could press the advantage. He braced himself with his injured left arm, feeling the pain beginning to grow. Harry welcomed the pain – he savored the agony and drew upon it to fuel his growing rage. He pressed down further and the bandages grew red as fresh blood flowed. The pain almost made Harry collapse but he mastered himself, channeling the pain, willing it to fuel his conviction.

The Dark Lord began to pant faster, the exertion getting to him as Harry strained against him. Finally, like the breaking of a dam, Harry roared and with a burst of will, he ground his left arm into the dirt and shot to his feet, no longer on his knees.

"Impossible..." said the Dark Lord incredulously.

Harry was just as stooped over as the Dark Lord, but he slowly walked forward, pressing his rage, his fury, and his sheer stubbornness against Voldemort's will. He felt as though he was striding against gale force winds, each step as difficult as the last. Harry felt pressure building in his skull and his left arm was screaming with new agony but he couldn't afford to stop staggering forward. He needed to progress forward, he _had_ to keep going. He would rather die from the exertion first before he would stop.

With each subsequent step, Voldemort slid back a little further. He was keeping himself barely on his feet, hunched over so low that he was bracing himself up with his left arm. Each step required even more effort than the last but still Harry went forward, his right arm outstretched, his vision focused only upon Voldemort's form. The Dark Lord's will no longer felt like the weight of the ocean, but had lessened to something more manageable, like a swiftly flowing river.

Harry's rage still hadn't abated. The events of the evening continued to play over in his head. Terry's decapitated head. His mangled left arm. Alecto smashing her staff against his head. The thorn manacles digging into his wrists. Voldemort's resurrection. The spell he had been struck with that made his nerves explode with pain. And worst of all, witnessing his parents' death. All of that tension had gathered inside Harry and suddenly been let loose. The images flashed inside Harry's head, sending his fury spiraling higher and higher without any apparent limit.

"How... how can you do this?" Voldemort shouted, forced back yet another step. As Voldemort began to be forced to his knees, Harry saw something he hadn't seen in his face all night. Desperation. Panic. _Fear_.

And Harry understood. Whatever else the Dark Lord was, he was a _bully_. Bullies were caught up in their self-image, wrapped up in their own self-assured omnipotence. So as long their victims didn't resist them, they retained their power. They were only as strong as their victim let them be – they only held as much power over one as much as one allowed them to. The concept of their victims actually fighting back against them was alien to them. They would crumble at any real resistance and their power would be exposed to be as just as illusory as it had always been.

Harry had been around bullies for a long time. He had met, evaded, and fought bullies at the orphanage. He met even more on the streets of London. He understood bullies. But most of all, he knew how to _defeat_ a bully.

In the haze of his rage, Harry felt a dark, pulsing power inside him. It thrummed with a deep, deep power. It was the same power that had called to him when he had been about to kill Alecto. It was the same energy that strengthened him when he stood over Amycus's corpse. Harry felt the power calling to him, whispering promises to him. It assured him the strength to dominate his foes, to turn his enemies upon each other, power to stave off disease and death, how to destroy his adversaries – and more. Harry had hesitated to grip onto that energy – he had shied away from that power out of fear of becoming something twisted and wrong. He didn't want to give in to that dark power, though it hadn't spoken to him as clearly as it did now.

Right now though, Harry didn't care. All he could feel was the blazing fire of his anger and he was no longer in a position to think about _after_. He didn't worry what the consequences of feeding that kind of power were. He was riding a wave of fury, drowning out all other thought and concerns, and all of Harry's will was focused on doing whatever it took to destroy Voldemort.

Harry gripped that dark power, sank down into that well of energy and drew deeply upon it. He let it wash over him, drunk his fill from it, to lend him its strength. He felt revitalized, the thrumming power seeping into every pore and nerve. His steps grew easier; the force of the Dark Lord's will began to abate even further. With each stride, his back straightened and he advanced upon the Dark Lord, the triumph singing in his veins. He could defeat Voldemort now. He would _crush_ the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord's eyes grew even wider, as he was forced even further down. He finally fell onto his knees and slid back even further and faster towards the pit behind him. Argent light began to fill Harry's vision as the runes on the helmet began to blaze even brighter. He felt the helmet grow hotter, staring to become overloaded with the sheer force of will he was channeling through it.

Harry walked forward further, now standing tall, his arm outstretched as he gazed upon Voldemort's kneeling form several paces away. The Dark Lord was only a foot away from the blazing pit behind him, casting amethyst light around his shadow. His head was bowed and he was breathing laboriously from the strain.

"What... are... you, Potter?" Voldemort finally managed between gasping breaths, unable to raise his head.

Harry stopped walking forward, before he said between clenched teeth, "I am the son of James and Lily Potter."

Harry summoned every scrap of will and conviction he had left. He felt it harden to a solid wall of power, a shimmering wave of pure determination. He could start to smell smoke from where the corners of the helmet began to melt. He let the dark power inside him rise higher and higher. He felt his vision start to grow red and he let all of his bottled fury and anger loose.

He thundered, "I AM HARRY POTTER!"

He felt the energy leave him in a single, roaring rush. He wanted to sag from the sudden loss, feeling dizzy. The helmet on his head grew almost agonizingly hot and Harry yanked it off and threw it away, where it exploded into a snarl of gold and silver fragments in the distance. The force of Harry's will struck Voldemort like a thunderbolt, lifting him off the ground and sending him tumbling into the pit below. The amethyst fire surged upward, obscuring the Dark Lord's form as he loose a long, blood-curdling shriek of agony before it abruptly died away.

Silence reigned for several long moments. Harry breathed heavily, still recovering from the incredible contest of wills. Alecto and Wormtail stood stiffly, staring at the pit incredulously, unable to believe their eyes. Harry spat onto the ground and began to draw on his will again, well aware that he was very close to empty right now with two very dangerous people right in front of him.

The purple fire then began to die away and soon was extinguished. There was only darkness and silence. Then, a single, utterly enraged voice pierced the night with astounding volume.

"SIEZE HIM!"

Alecto and Wormtail jerked, hesitating before they began to raise their staves.

 _Bloody hell, he's_ still _alive?_

Harry snarled and dove back into that deep well of dark power, letting it fill him, to give him one last shot of energy. He rode a high of black power and gathered his will, ready to put everything into one final spell for tonight.

Wormtail must have sensed what was about to happen because he scrambled away, shouting desperately as he began to form defensive gestures. Alecto wasn't so lucky.

" _INCENDIO MAXIMA!_ " Harry screamed and slashed a horizontal arc in the air with his hand.

A cone of volcanic-hot flame erupted outward, sending up a towering conflagration that exploded in an incredible cacophony of sound and heat. The flames surged up at least fifty feet high, in a detonation that left Harry's ears ringing. The heat washed back over Harry and his skin quickly grew painfully warm.

Alecto only had enough time to scream before the fire slammed against her, throwing her onto the ground. Her screaming abruptly died as the flames tore away the air from her lungs. Her staff exploded into a thousand useless splinters as her flesh instantly blackened and withered away. Harry could see her crumbling silhouette in the raging flames, as her body broke apart into a mess of ash and fragments of blackened bone. Harry had no idea what happened to Wormtail and didn't care either.

For as much metaphysical mojo that practitioners like Harry or Alecto had, they were still human. A single solid hit was all it took to take someone down for good.

Unless that someone was the Dark Lord apparently.

Somehow, despite the incredible noise of the flames, Voldemort's voice raged over them in a long, inarticulate scream of fury. The Dark Lord was very much still alive and extremely angry by the sounds of it. Breathing heavily from the effort of unleashing the spell, Harry staggered back away from the roaring flames. The fire was quickly growing, blackening the ground beneath.

Still hearing Voldemort's screams behind him, Harry ran, pumping his legs up and down. He sprinted down the cemetery, heading for the yew tree up ahead. He stumbled over a rock and righted himself, bracing his hand against one of the headstones. He could still hear the Dark Lord raging behind him and it looked like his fire spell was clearing. He didn't have a lot of time. He dashed through the cemetery, his lungs burning from the effort and he drew deep, gulping breaths.

He shot over the roots of the yew tree and tripped over one of the roots. He yelped as he fell, but managed to turn it into a forward roll, getting back on his feet and running past the church. He saw Alecto's van still parked along on the road, away from the church. He'd just have to pray that the keys were still inside.

He ran down the road, coming up alongside the van. He yanked open the door on the right – it was still unlocked – and jumped inside, slamming it shut behind him. The keys weren't in the ignition. He searched frantically, opening the glove compartment, checking under the seat, and he looked inside one of the cup holders.

"Come on, come on, where the bloody hell is it!" Harry shouted in frustration. Then, he saw something glinting above him and he lowered the sun visor. A keychain filled with several keys fell down onto Harry's lap. "Yes!" Harry crowed, as he began to try each key in turn.

Voldemort's screaming grew louder and louder. He must have done away with Harry's spell and was probably gaining on him. Harry desperately switched from key to key, as each second only allowed the Dark Lord to approach closer. Finally, a worn, dirtied key fit into the ignition switch. Harry twisted it and felt the engine roar to life.

Thankfully, the van was an automatic. Harry didn't have a driving license, but he understood the theory well enough to drive. Keeping his foot against the brakes, he dropped the handbrake and changed from Park all the way to Drive.

Harry smelled smoke wafting into the van. He glanced at the side view mirror and saw a growing glow of orange light. He turned around, looking out the window. Suddenly, the church behind the van exploded outward in a surge of painfully bright orange-red flame, scattering flaming splinters and debris onto the road.

The flames crashed against the ground, recoiling upward and he saw it twist and writhe into impossible shapes. Fiery shapes erupted out from the flames, forming what looked like dragons, serpents, raptors, and beasts of all shapes and sizes made of fire.

"Bloody hell!" Harry shouted, before he let go of the brakes and slammed on the accelerator. The wheels skidded aimlessly for a moment before the van shot forward, pushing Harry back into his seat. He saw the speedometer rapidly rise, pushing past fifty, sixty miles per hour.

"POTTER!" The Dark Lord's voice roared over the rush of the engines and the quickly approaching flames. Fiery rhinos stampeded behind Harry as dragons of flame flew and flaming horses galloped. They rushed towards him with alarming speed, blotting out everything behind Harry until all he could see in the mirror were the flames.

Harry's heart pounded against his chest as he drove the van down the roadway. He was pushing seventy, now eighty miles per hour and still the flames pursued. He pushed down on the accelerator as far as it could go, willing the van to go faster still. He felt the air growing warmer as the seconds ticked by.

"Come on, you bloody hunk of junk!" Harry shouted in panic. "Move faster!"

Finally, as he shot past one hundred miles per hour, he saw the flames retreating, the howl of a thousand fiery beasts subsiding as he outpaced the conflagration. Voldemort's shriek of rage faded as Harry sped off into the autumn night.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry was still driving aimlessly down the road, though not nearly as fast as he had before. The country roadway was deserted and Harry hadn't seen anyone else yet.

He had no idea where he was. He needed to get to a petrol station soon – he was very close to empty on fuel by this point. Alecto must have spent nearly all of the fuel just bringing Harry to the graveyard. However, he didn't know where the closest petrol station would be, let alone where in England he was – assuming he was still in England to begin with.

The other pressing issue in Harry's mind was just what he was going to do when he got back to his flat, assuming it was still intact at this point. Several nearby tenants would have seen Terry's body. He and the two sorcerers hadn't exactly been subtle about the confrontation. He had left thousands of pounds worth of property damage behind him, leaving aside what he had managed to do to his flat. By now, the bobbies were probably still surrounding his flat. What in the world would he even tell them?

 _Excuse me, PC Plod, you see that I got into a magical scrap with two sorcerers that killed my flatmate and then kidnapped me to resurrect their previously departed Dark Lord, who I just managed to escape. Don't arrest me, yeah?_

Harry snorted. No doubt that would go over _real_ well with the local constabulary, assuming they didn't toss him into a nuthouse first. Harry bit his lip. He could try asking Tom for help, but he had a feeling that this mess was well beyond Tom's ability to do anything about it.

And besides all of the legal troubles Harry would face, the reality was that Voldemort was still alive – and more than a little cheesed off by Harry's survival. He had said that they had been tracking his common haunts, his friends, practically his entire life. He couldn't afford to go back to his flat or his friends, not only because the bobbies would likely be hanging about looking for him, but so would Voldemort and his followers.

 _Hell, my friends!_ Harry would have to get the word to Dean, Seamus, and the others somehow in case the Dark Lord did something. But, would they listen to him as well? Harry had never been upfront about any of the magic business with them, even though Dean and Seamus also worked at the Cauldron. Would they even believe him? More importantly, could they even evade the Dark Lord? Harry had no idea what to do.

 _Just find a petrol station first, Harry. Then you can try to figure something out_.

Harry sighed and kept driving, trying not to think about the insanity that had occurred over the last few hours. Suddenly, two figures materialized out of nowhere on the country road, just under sixty feet away.

"Out of the way you sods!" Harry roared, as he let go of the accelerator and slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed and whined as the van began to decelerate from fifty miles per hour. It was too late however – he saw the two figures rapidly approach in his vision, clad in what looked like grey cloaks.

The two of them raised their hands in unison, palms out and the van smashed against what seemed like an invisible wall, crushing the bumper and raising the van several feet into the air. Harry shot forward in his seat, the seat belt lashing painfully against his chest as he crashed against the rapidly expanding air bag. The van fell back onto the ground, rocking Harry up against the ceiling of the van.

He was still feeling woozy from the impact when the driver's side door was thrown open. He yelped as what felt like a knife cut apart the seat belt and Harry was jerked forward and thrown bodily onto the ground, landing flat on his back onto the roadway. The van had come to a complete halt, even as the engine idled.

Harry coughed as he tried to recover his wits, breathing in and out. Then a shadow stepped over him and something grabbed him by the collar, yanking him off the ground before slamming him against the side of the van. He gasped and slumped to the ground, his back aching from the impact.

 _What the hell is with people and throwing me against cars today?_

For several long moments, Harry breathed painfully, wondering what the hell was going on. Then, there was the rasp of steel on steel and something sharp and heavy rested against Harry's shoulder. It thrummed with a quiet power, setting his teeth on edge. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before he looked up at a bizarre sight.

A woman with bubble-gum pink hair and dark, glittering eyes on a heart-shaped face glared down at him. She was dressed in what looked like black combat fatigues. She bore a long, worn staff in her left hand, with a grey cloak over her fatigues.

Oh, and she held a freaking silver broadsword in her right hand, the edge inches away from Harry's neck.

"Harry Green," she said sharply, "you are suspected of engaging in black magic and violating the First Law of Magic. Should you be found guilty before the Council, you will be sentenced to execution by the sword. To be carried out at once."

 _Bloody hell_.


End file.
